The Hunt
by Esseo
Summary: A game with SOLO - I was really enjoying it. Ripped via Tumblr. We lost touch.


Hunter or Hunted

Closed starter for noheero

As darkness falls upon the colony, the neon lights of the L2 slums reflect off the oil filled puddles covering the streets. A lone figure sits above on the rooftops feet hanging over the side as the wind blows his hair about, mixing it about with the smoke coming from his cigarette. Looking upward to the sky, impossibly bright green eyes take in everything the false sky has to offer. Another long drag from the cigarette brings on a sharp cough from the lithe frame.

Standing up, the boy extinguishes the flame and stretches before finally making his way down onto the dirty streets. Torn and filthy converse splash around in the puddles as he makes his way to a hidden hole in the wall before disappearing inside.

The boy smirks softly to himself at the thought of his pursuers trying to follow him through the maze of the underground.

noheero

「"…Your target has eluded every taskforce we've thrown at him. In April, he began setting traps. He knows our formations, which is why we can't send in the greens on this one. A solitary agent seems like our best option now. We think you'll be able to evade his methods." 」

The shuttle struggled over a bump. L2 wasn't far. It's neglected space rails were starting to rattle the ride.「"Do not underestimate your target, or his use of the terrain. As a recap, he has injured eleven agents. He favors knives and minor explosives. When entering enclosed areas, employ your oxygen mask. Several Preventers have reported smoke bombs."」

Heero acknowledged her briefing with a soft nod while loading his weapon. Three magazines of heavyduty tranqs. They were much lighter than regular bullets. Heero couldn't get over that. It felt like he was carrying an empty gun. Which was why the single cartridge of lethal rounds in his coat pocket felt comforting when it patted against his chest.

Duo was still in the hospital; still breathing and eating through tubes because some piece of privileged garbage had opened up a black market on L4. He, and his artillery shop, had been permanently retired, but not before ensuring that Maxwell's best case scenario would be years of physical therapy.

The shuttle pulled into L2's terminal. Heero glanced out the window at the passengers exiting coach. It was nice being in first class. There was no denying that. Privacy was a luxury. 「"Remember, your assignment is to detain the head arms dealer. Take him into custody and report back within the forty-eight hours allotted or we'll be forced to deploy a recovery team. And Heero," 」He paused to glance at Noin's flickering likeness. 「"…be careful."」

"Roger that."

Heero holstered his gun and exited the shuttle.

Hunter or Hunted

Closed starter for noheero

As darkness falls upon the colony, the neon lights of the L2 slums reflect off the oil filled puddles covering the streets. A lone figure sits above on the rooftops feet hanging over the side as the wind blows his hair about, mixing it about with the smoke coming from his cigarette. Looking upward to the sky, impossibly bright green eyes take in everything the false sky has to offer. Another long drag from the cigarette brings on a sharp cough from the lithe frame.

Standing up, the boy extinguishes the flame and stretches before finally making his way down onto the dirty streets. Torn and filthy converse splash around in the puddles as he makes his way to a hidden hole in the wall before disappearing inside.

The boy smirks softly to himself at the thought of his pursuers trying to follow him through the maze of the underground.

noheero

「"…Your target has eluded every taskforce we've thrown at him. In April, he began setting traps. He knows our formations, which is why we can't send in the greens on this one. A solitary agent seems like our best option now. We think you'll be able to evade his methods." 」

The shuttle struggled over a bump. L2 wasn't far. It's neglected space rails were starting to rattle the ride.「"Do not underestimate your target, or his use of the terrain. As a recap, he has injured eleven agents. He favors knives and minor explosives. When entering enclosed areas, employ your oxygen mask. Several Preventers have reported smoke bombs."」

Heero acknowledged her briefing with a soft nod while loading his weapon. Three magazines of heavyduty tranqs. They were much lighter than regular bullets. Heero couldn't get over that. It felt like he was carrying an empty gun. Which was why the single cartridge of lethal rounds in his coat pocket felt comforting when it patted against his chest.

Duo was still in the hospital; still breathing and eating through tubes because some piece of privileged garbage had opened up a black market on L4. He, and his artillery shop, had been permanently retired, but not before ensuring that Maxwell's best case scenario would be years of physical therapy.

The shuttle pulled into L2's terminal. Heero glanced out the window at the passengers exiting coach. It was nice being in first class. There was no denying that. Privacy was a luxury. 「"Remember, your assignment is to detain the head arms dealer. Take him into custody and report back within the forty-eight hours allotted or we'll be forced to deploy a recovery team. And Heero," 」He paused to glance at Noin's flickering likeness. 「"…be careful."」

"Roger that."

Heero holstered his gun and exited the shuttle.

the-older-maxwell

The bass coming from the underground bar was a thing alive, vibrating through the boys bones.

"Ehhh. El muerto ya?" The barkeep slurs from across the room.

"Callate anciano" Solo's harsh voice yells over the crowd as he makes his way over. The barkeep walks over and claps Solo on the back none too gently. Without being asked, he slides a short glass of vodka down to Solo just as he takes a seat. "Un hombre nuevo acaba de volar. saber algo?"

The old man chuckles loudly, "Nah. Ain't heard nothin, kid." Solo clicks his tongue, then throws the drink back in one gulp. "Luka around?" The barkeep nods his head towards the back room and Solo stands, knocking the stool back as he stalks towards the back. A man in his mid thirties looks up from his computer when Solo comes in.

"Oye, Luka. Tengo un comprador. venga."

As the boys head out Solo pulls his hood over his head, shoving his hands into his pockets and thumbing along the blade resting in his pocket. Wary of the area surrounding the space port, the younger boy elbows the older blond up towards a fire escape.

"Tomar los tejados. I've gotta bad feeling about this"

noheero

He has limited intel. Just the coordinates of a storage facility where deals are rumored to take place, but that should be enough. Rumors within a colony are richer than those on Earth. They have less room to travel and tighter populations to keep them intact.

He climbs the designated hillside in confidence. He removes his backpack and deftly begins to assemble a long rifle. Images from the past come to mind as he attaches it's scope. It's all like before, except the gun feels too light.

He props it towards the warehouse in question and lowers to his belly, scanning the area. Night vision is a wonderful function. Even from his distant overlook, he can clearly see three men circling the facility - and being bad at being discrete.

Heero settles against the earth; makes his body comfortable just as a cat does while preparing to pounce. Even before he's fired, he knows the elation in his chest is a bad thing — Relena wouldn't approve of it. At least Duo would have shared it.

He hears the rifle's mechanics; feels them as they reverberate through him. But the shot itself is almost silent. The first guard goes down like a pile of bricks. He's a big guy, but his weight is no match for a Preventer's tranquilizer.

The other's run to him instead of away from him. Heero drops them. The first crumbles to his side, but the second falls forward like a 2x4. The scene…or the situation, is as humorous as it is satisfying. A quiet chuckle threatens to tremor out of control before Heero clears his throat and hunkers back into position.

Organizers have eyes and ears around their lackey's. If there is a head to this trash heap, he'll come running, eventually…once he see's his pawns have toppled over. In the mean time, Heero tries to zoom through the warehouse window.

No luck. Closed angle.

And that's alright.

Something more interesting is making it's way over the surrounding rooftops. Two figures that aren't quite in range, but will be soon. 'It's smart to travel up top.' he thinks to himself, 'I'll have to knock them down. No discernible access if I approach from here.'

Hunter or Hunted

Closed starter for noheero

As darkness falls upon the colony, the neon lights of the L2 slums reflect off the oil filled puddles covering the streets. A lone figure sits above on the rooftops feet hanging over the side as the wind blows his hair about, mixing it about with the smoke coming from his cigarette. Looking upward to the sky, impossibly bright green eyes take in everything the false sky has to offer. Another long drag from the cigarette brings on a sharp cough from the lithe frame.

Standing up, the boy extinguishes the flame and stretches before finally making his way down onto the dirty streets. Torn and filthy converse splash around in the puddles as he makes his way to a hidden hole in the wall before disappearing inside.

The boy smirks softly to himself at the thought of his pursuers trying to follow him through the maze of the underground.

noheero

「"…Your target has eluded every taskforce we've thrown at him. In April, he began setting traps. He knows our formations, which is why we can't send in the greens on this one. A solitary agent seems like our best option now. We think you'll be able to evade his methods." 」

The shuttle struggled over a bump. L2 wasn't far. It's neglected space rails were starting to rattle the ride.「"Do not underestimate your target, or his use of the terrain. As a recap, he has injured eleven agents. He favors knives and minor explosives. When entering enclosed areas, employ your oxygen mask. Several Preventers have reported smoke bombs."」

Heero acknowledged her briefing with a soft nod while loading his weapon. Three magazines of heavyduty tranqs. They were much lighter than regular bullets. Heero couldn't get over that. It felt like he was carrying an empty gun. Which was why the single cartridge of lethal rounds in his coat pocket felt comforting when it patted against his chest.

Duo was still in the hospital; still breathing and eating through tubes because some piece of privileged garbage had opened up a black market on L4. He, and his artillery shop, had been permanently retired, but not before ensuring that Maxwell's best case scenario would be years of physical therapy.

The shuttle pulled into L2's terminal. Heero glanced out the window at the passengers exiting coach. It was nice being in first class. There was no denying that. Privacy was a luxury. 「"Remember, your assignment is to detain the head arms dealer. Take him into custody and report back within the forty-eight hours allotted or we'll be forced to deploy a recovery team. And Heero," 」He paused to glance at Noin's flickering likeness. 「"…be careful."」

"Roger that."

Heero holstered his gun and exited the shuttle.

the-older-maxwell

The bass coming from the underground bar was a thing alive, vibrating through the boys bones.

"Ehhh. El muerto ya?" The barkeep slurs from across the room.

"Callate anciano" Solo's harsh voice yells over the crowd as he makes his way over. The barkeep walks over and claps Solo on the back none too gently. Without being asked, he slides a short glass of vodka down to Solo just as he takes a seat. "Un hombre nuevo acaba de volar. saber algo?"

The old man chuckles loudly, "Nah. Ain't heard nothin, kid." Solo clicks his tongue, then throws the drink back in one gulp. "Luka around?" The barkeep nods his head towards the back room and Solo stands, knocking the stool back as he stalks towards the back. A man in his mid thirties looks up from his computer when Solo comes in.

"Oye, Luka. Tengo un comprador. venga."

As the boys head out Solo pulls his hood over his head, shoving his hands into his pockets and thumbing along the blade resting in his pocket. Wary of the area surrounding the space port, the younger boy elbows the older blond up towards a fire escape.

"Tomar los tejados. I've gotta bad feeling about this"

noheero

He has limited intel. Just the coordinates of a storage facility where deals are rumored to take place, but that should be enough. Rumors within a colony are richer than those on Earth. They have less room to travel and tighter populations to keep them intact.

He climbs the designated hillside in confidence. He removes his backpack and deftly begins to assemble a long rifle. Images from the past come to mind as he attaches it's scope. It's all like before, except the gun feels too light.

He props it towards the warehouse in question and lowers to his belly, scanning the area. Night vision is a wonderful function. Even from his distant overlook, he can clearly see three men circling the facility - and being bad at being discrete.

Heero settles against the earth; makes his body comfortable just as a cat does while preparing to pounce. Even before he's fired, he knows the elation in his chest is a bad thing — Relena wouldn't approve of it. At least Duo would have shared it.

He hears the rifle's mechanics; feels them as they reverberate through him. But the shot itself is almost silent. The first guard goes down like a pile of bricks. He's a big guy, but his weight is no match for a Preventer's tranquilizer.

The other's run to him instead of away from him. Heero drops them. The first crumbles to his side, but the second falls forward like a 2x4. The scene…or the situation, is as humorous as it is satisfying. A quiet chuckle threatens to tremor out of control before Heero clears his throat and hunkers back into position.

Organizers have eyes and ears around their lackey's. If there is a head to this trash heap, he'll come running, eventually…once he see's his pawns have toppled over. In the mean time, Heero tries to zoom through the warehouse window.

No luck. Closed angle.

And that's alright.

Something more interesting is making it's way over the surrounding rooftops. Two figures that aren't quite in range, but will be soon. 'It's smart to travel up top.' he thinks to himself, 'I'll have to knock them down. No discernible access if I approach from here.'

the-older-maxwell

Just as they approach the roof of the warehouse, Solo stops dead in his tracks upon hearing the three shots. Quiet as they were, he knows a shot when he hears one.

He grabs ahold of Lukas shirt and hauls him down just as they come into Heero's range. Landing roughly on their stomachs before Heero can take his shot, Solo exhales a huge grunt.

"Es ese maldito nino" he hisses at his right hand man as they back away from the warehouse, staying on the rooftops and staying out of sight. "Maldicion"

Using a nearby balcony, the two head back down to street level and the shelter it brings. Solo nods his head away from the warehouse, "Ir. Sal de aqui" Luka shakes his head at Solo before heading the other direction, blending in quickly with the shadows.

Solo smirks softly to himself before crossing to the other side of the street and back onto the rooftops, well out of Heero's range. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop with ease and silence, he makes his way around to behind Heero's location undetected. Reaching into his pocket for his materials, he sizes the other boy up and creates a smoke bomb strong enough to take the sniper out.

Solo digs a metal mask out of his pocket and secures it over his face. Wouldn't do for his clients to get a good enough look at him to be able to snitch. Checking the bomb one more time, he gauges the distance and chucks it so it lands several feet in front of Heero and disperses the smoke upon impact with the ground.

noheero

It had been so close.

Almost a clean shot.

Heero's lips pull thin. He lets off several rounds in protest. Tranquilizers bury themselves in shabby adobe and ping off of metal sheeting. They throttle out a tantrum on the rooftops, but never make their mark. The moment his targets vanish, He sits up and begins disassembling his weapon. It's quick work. Heero's hands move without thought - twisting, unlatching, disconnecting. He knows he doesn't have much time, but assumes he has more than Solo permits.

The smoke bomb bounces like a baby rabbit before spraying it's contents up from the grass. Immediately, Heero stands. He runs to kick it down the hillside, but even as it retreats from his boot, his eyes and throat are left burning. It's fumes are too noxious for the wind to readily carry. He coughs. And coughs. And coughs while blindly reaching into his backpack for his oxygen mask.

From Solo's perspective, there is an audible struggle to breathe heard behind clouds of smoke. And then silence. The pause is long, but misleading. As he begins his approach, he is greeted by the unfriendly figure that opened fire on his comrades. Heero bursts through the plume with a pistol at the ready. Its evident, right away, that this boy is not an amateur. He squeezes the trigger in rapid succession, littering the field between them with tranqs. A mean looking tablet plants itself near Solo's left foot and releases it's sedative into the L2s manufactured dirt.

It would have been well-aimed, if the shooter had not been gassed. Even with his blurring vision and worsening nausea, he charges forward. Silent and determined to bring his enemy down.

Hunter or Hunted

Closed starter for noheero

As darkness falls upon the colony, the neon lights of the L2 slums reflect off the oil filled puddles covering the streets. A lone figure sits above on the rooftops feet hanging over the side as the wind blows his hair about, mixing it about with the smoke coming from his cigarette. Looking upward to the sky, impossibly bright green eyes take in everything the false sky has to offer. Another long drag from the cigarette brings on a sharp cough from the lithe frame.

Standing up, the boy extinguishes the flame and stretches before finally making his way down onto the dirty streets. Torn and filthy converse splash around in the puddles as he makes his way to a hidden hole in the wall before disappearing inside.

The boy smirks softly to himself at the thought of his pursuers trying to follow him through the maze of the underground.

noheero

「"…Your target has eluded every taskforce we've thrown at him. In April, he began setting traps. He knows our formations, which is why we can't send in the greens on this one. A solitary agent seems like our best option now. We think you'll be able to evade his methods." 」

The shuttle struggled over a bump. L2 wasn't far. It's neglected space rails were starting to rattle the ride.「"Do not underestimate your target, or his use of the terrain. As a recap, he has injured eleven agents. He favors knives and minor explosives. When entering enclosed areas, employ your oxygen mask. Several Preventers have reported smoke bombs."」

Heero acknowledged her briefing with a soft nod while loading his weapon. Three magazines of heavyduty tranqs. They were much lighter than regular bullets. Heero couldn't get over that. It felt like he was carrying an empty gun. Which was why the single cartridge of lethal rounds in his coat pocket felt comforting when it patted against his chest.

Duo was still in the hospital; still breathing and eating through tubes because some piece of privileged garbage had opened up a black market on L4. He, and his artillery shop, had been permanently retired, but not before ensuring that Maxwell's best case scenario would be years of physical therapy.

The shuttle pulled into L2's terminal. Heero glanced out the window at the passengers exiting coach. It was nice being in first class. There was no denying that. Privacy was a luxury. 「"Remember, your assignment is to detain the head arms dealer. Take him into custody and report back within the forty-eight hours allotted or we'll be forced to deploy a recovery team. And Heero," 」He paused to glance at Noin's flickering likeness. 「"…be careful."」

"Roger that."

Heero holstered his gun and exited the shuttle.

the-older-maxwell

The bass coming from the underground bar was a thing alive, vibrating through the boys bones.

"Ehhh. El muerto ya?" The barkeep slurs from across the room.

"Callate anciano" Solo's harsh voice yells over the crowd as he makes his way over. The barkeep walks over and claps Solo on the back none too gently. Without being asked, he slides a short glass of vodka down to Solo just as he takes a seat. "Un hombre nuevo acaba de volar. saber algo?"

The old man chuckles loudly, "Nah. Ain't heard nothin, kid." Solo clicks his tongue, then throws the drink back in one gulp. "Luka around?" The barkeep nods his head towards the back room and Solo stands, knocking the stool back as he stalks towards the back. A man in his mid thirties looks up from his computer when Solo comes in.

"Oye, Luka. Tengo un comprador. venga."

As the boys head out Solo pulls his hood over his head, shoving his hands into his pockets and thumbing along the blade resting in his pocket. Wary of the area surrounding the space port, the younger boy elbows the older blond up towards a fire escape.

"Tomar los tejados. I've gotta bad feeling about this"

noheero

He has limited intel. Just the coordinates of a storage facility where deals are rumored to take place, but that should be enough. Rumors within a colony are richer than those on Earth. They have less room to travel and tighter populations to keep them intact.

He climbs the designated hillside in confidence. He removes his backpack and deftly begins to assemble a long rifle. Images from the past come to mind as he attaches it's scope. It's all like before, except the gun feels too light.

He props it towards the warehouse in question and lowers to his belly, scanning the area. Night vision is a wonderful function. Even from his distant overlook, he can clearly see three men circling the facility - and being bad at being discrete.

Heero settles against the earth; makes his body comfortable just as a cat does while preparing to pounce. Even before he's fired, he knows the elation in his chest is a bad thing — Relena wouldn't approve of it. At least Duo would have shared it.

He hears the rifle's mechanics; feels them as they reverberate through him. But the shot itself is almost silent. The first guard goes down like a pile of bricks. He's a big guy, but his weight is no match for a Preventer's tranquilizer.

The other's run to him instead of away from him. Heero drops them. The first crumbles to his side, but the second falls forward like a 2x4. The scene…or the situation, is as humorous as it is satisfying. A quiet chuckle threatens to tremor out of control before Heero clears his throat and hunkers back into position.

Organizers have eyes and ears around their lackey's. If there is a head to this trash heap, he'll come running, eventually…once he see's his pawns have toppled over. In the mean time, Heero tries to zoom through the warehouse window.

No luck. Closed angle.

And that's alright.

Something more interesting is making it's way over the surrounding rooftops. Two figures that aren't quite in range, but will be soon. 'It's smart to travel up top.' he thinks to himself, 'I'll have to knock them down. No discernible access if I approach from here.'

the-older-maxwell

Just as they approach the roof of the warehouse, Solo stops dead in his tracks upon hearing the three shots. Quiet as they were, he knows a shot when he hears one.

He grabs ahold of Lukas shirt and hauls him down just as they come into Heero's range. Landing roughly on their stomachs before Heero can take his shot, Solo exhales a huge grunt.

"Es ese maldito nino" he hisses at his right hand man as they back away from the warehouse, staying on the rooftops and staying out of sight. "Maldicion"

Using a nearby balcony, the two head back down to street level and the shelter it brings. Solo nods his head away from the warehouse, "Ir. Sal de aqui" Luka shakes his head at Solo before heading the other direction, blending in quickly with the shadows.

Solo smirks softly to himself before crossing to the other side of the street and back onto the rooftops, well out of Heero's range. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop with ease and silence, he makes his way around to behind Heero's location undetected. Reaching into his pocket for his materials, he sizes the other boy up and creates a smoke bomb strong enough to take the sniper out.

Solo digs a metal mask out of his pocket and secures it over his face. Wouldn't do for his clients to get a good enough look at him to be able to snitch. Checking the bomb one more time, he gauges the distance and chucks it so it lands several feet in front of Heero and disperses the smoke upon impact with the ground.

noheero

It had been so close.

Almost a clean shot.

Heero's lips pull thin. He lets off several rounds in protest. Tranquilizers bury themselves in shabby adobe and ping off of metal sheeting. They throttle out a tantrum on the rooftops, but never make their mark. The moment his targets vanish, He sits up and begins disassembling his weapon. It's quick work. Heero's hands move without thought - twisting, unlatching, disconnecting. He knows he doesn't have much time, but assumes he has more than Solo permits.

The smoke bomb bounces like a baby rabbit before spraying it's contents up from the grass. Immediately, Heero stands. He runs to kick it down the hillside, but even as it retreats from his boot, his eyes and throat are left burning. It's fumes are too noxious for the wind to readily carry. He coughs. And coughs. And coughs while blindly reaching into his backpack for his oxygen mask.

From Solo's perspective, there is an audible struggle to breathe heard behind clouds of smoke. And then silence. The pause is long, but misleading. As he begins his approach, he is greeted by the unfriendly figure that opened fire on his comrades. Heero bursts through the plume with a pistol at the ready. Its evident, right away, that this boy is not an amateur. He squeezes the trigger in rapid succession, littering the field between them with tranqs. A mean looking tablet plants itself near Solo's left foot and releases it's sedative into the L2s manufactured dirt.

It would have been well-aimed, if the shooter had not been gassed. Even with his blurring vision and worsening nausea, he charges forward. Silent and determined to bring his enemy down.

the-older-maxwell

Jumping back and away from the shot that barely

misses him, he turns on his heel and runs backwards, vaulting across the alleyway to get back up to the rooftops. as more shots ring out, he snarls and drops back down to hide behind a dumpster.

Waiting there until the shots stop when Heero has to reload, he springs forward and slides down to his knees kicking Heero's legs out from under him. He then elbows the fallen agent under the chin to stun him while he grabs the rifle and runs back out of the alley, and across the open field back towards the warehouse. On a sudden impulse he stops and crawls up a nearby tree. Barely breaking a sweat the boy calmly waits for his hunter to return.

noheero

The target is fast.

He has his surroundings memorized and doesn't need to calculate a route before leaping into action. Before Heero can close in, the dealer is gone.

CLICK CLICK CLICK

The Preventer takes a few, habitual steps backwards while ejecting his pistol's empty cartridge. He knows that distance is a valuable tool during combat, but it's hard to discern what direction he should move in to acquire it. His eyes are on fire. Tears flow to quench the burn - automatic and emotionless. They fog up his plastic air-mask.

A blow to his knees; an abrasion to the chin. Solo's strike sends a loud CRACK through Heero's aspiration device. He can see the slim line of a break in it's plastic as he falls backwards. That, beyond the pain in his jaw and the loss of his gun, is a problem. He pulls the mask off as his attacker flees. He is not stunned, but he is irritated and up quickly enough to pose a threat.

Heero is also fast.

Unfortunately, his lungs don't want to cooperate with the pace of his boots. They snap tight, reminding him that he may have inhaled a little too much of whatever had been in that canister. He conceals his mouth with one arm and coughs into his elbow while continuing to run. His steps slow as he passes a treeline. The branches of bushes shake along his quarry's path. They hint at Solo's location while threatening to giveaway Heero's.

Hunter or Hunted

Closed starter for noheero

As darkness falls upon the colony, the neon lights of the L2 slums reflect off the oil filled puddles covering the streets. A lone figure sits above on the rooftops feet hanging over the side as the wind blows his hair about, mixing it about with the smoke coming from his cigarette. Looking upward to the sky, impossibly bright green eyes take in everything the false sky has to offer. Another long drag from the cigarette brings on a sharp cough from the lithe frame.

Standing up, the boy extinguishes the flame and stretches before finally making his way down onto the dirty streets. Torn and filthy converse splash around in the puddles as he makes his way to a hidden hole in the wall before disappearing inside.

The boy smirks softly to himself at the thought of his pursuers trying to follow him through the maze of the underground.

noheero

「"…Your target has eluded every taskforce we've thrown at him. In April, he began setting traps. He knows our formations, which is why we can't send in the greens on this one. A solitary agent seems like our best option now. We think you'll be able to evade his methods." 」

The shuttle struggled over a bump. L2 wasn't far. It's neglected space rails were starting to rattle the ride.「"Do not underestimate your target, or his use of the terrain. As a recap, he has injured eleven agents. He favors knives and minor explosives. When entering enclosed areas, employ your oxygen mask. Several Preventers have reported smoke bombs."」

Heero acknowledged her briefing with a soft nod while loading his weapon. Three magazines of heavyduty tranqs. They were much lighter than regular bullets. Heero couldn't get over that. It felt like he was carrying an empty gun. Which was why the single cartridge of lethal rounds in his coat pocket felt comforting when it patted against his chest.

Duo was still in the hospital; still breathing and eating through tubes because some piece of privileged garbage had opened up a black market on L4. He, and his artillery shop, had been permanently retired, but not before ensuring that Maxwell's best case scenario would be years of physical therapy.

The shuttle pulled into L2's terminal. Heero glanced out the window at the passengers exiting coach. It was nice being in first class. There was no denying that. Privacy was a luxury. 「"Remember, your assignment is to detain the head arms dealer. Take him into custody and report back within the forty-eight hours allotted or we'll be forced to deploy a recovery team. And Heero," 」He paused to glance at Noin's flickering likeness. 「"…be careful."」

"Roger that."

Heero holstered his gun and exited the shuttle.

the-older-maxwell

The bass coming from the underground bar was a thing alive, vibrating through the boys bones.

"Ehhh. El muerto ya?" The barkeep slurs from across the room.

"Callate anciano" Solo's harsh voice yells over the crowd as he makes his way over. The barkeep walks over and claps Solo on the back none too gently. Without being asked, he slides a short glass of vodka down to Solo just as he takes a seat. "Un hombre nuevo acaba de volar. saber algo?"

The old man chuckles loudly, "Nah. Ain't heard nothin, kid." Solo clicks his tongue, then throws the drink back in one gulp. "Luka around?" The barkeep nods his head towards the back room and Solo stands, knocking the stool back as he stalks towards the back. A man in his mid thirties looks up from his computer when Solo comes in.

"Oye, Luka. Tengo un comprador. venga."

As the boys head out Solo pulls his hood over his head, shoving his hands into his pockets and thumbing along the blade resting in his pocket. Wary of the area surrounding the space port, the younger boy elbows the older blond up towards a fire escape.

"Tomar los tejados. I've gotta bad feeling about this"

noheero

He has limited intel. Just the coordinates of a storage facility where deals are rumored to take place, but that should be enough. Rumors within a colony are richer than those on Earth. They have less room to travel and tighter populations to keep them intact.

He climbs the designated hillside in confidence. He removes his backpack and deftly begins to assemble a long rifle. Images from the past come to mind as he attaches it's scope. It's all like before, except the gun feels too light.

He props it towards the warehouse in question and lowers to his belly, scanning the area. Night vision is a wonderful function. Even from his distant overlook, he can clearly see three men circling the facility - and being bad at being discrete.

Heero settles against the earth; makes his body comfortable just as a cat does while preparing to pounce. Even before he's fired, he knows the elation in his chest is a bad thing — Relena wouldn't approve of it. At least Duo would have shared it.

He hears the rifle's mechanics; feels them as they reverberate through him. But the shot itself is almost silent. The first guard goes down like a pile of bricks. He's a big guy, but his weight is no match for a Preventer's tranquilizer.

The other's run to him instead of away from him. Heero drops them. The first crumbles to his side, but the second falls forward like a 2x4. The scene…or the situation, is as humorous as it is satisfying. A quiet chuckle threatens to tremor out of control before Heero clears his throat and hunkers back into position.

Organizers have eyes and ears around their lackey's. If there is a head to this trash heap, he'll come running, eventually…once he see's his pawns have toppled over. In the mean time, Heero tries to zoom through the warehouse window.

No luck. Closed angle.

And that's alright.

Something more interesting is making it's way over the surrounding rooftops. Two figures that aren't quite in range, but will be soon. 'It's smart to travel up top.' he thinks to himself, 'I'll have to knock them down. No discernible access if I approach from here.'

the-older-maxwell

Just as they approach the roof of the warehouse, Solo stops dead in his tracks upon hearing the three shots. Quiet as they were, he knows a shot when he hears one.

He grabs ahold of Lukas shirt and hauls him down just as they come into Heero's range. Landing roughly on their stomachs before Heero can take his shot, Solo exhales a huge grunt.

"Es ese maldito nino" he hisses at his right hand man as they back away from the warehouse, staying on the rooftops and staying out of sight. "Maldicion"

Using a nearby balcony, the two head back down to street level and the shelter it brings. Solo nods his head away from the warehouse, "Ir. Sal de aqui" Luka shakes his head at Solo before heading the other direction, blending in quickly with the shadows.

Solo smirks softly to himself before crossing to the other side of the street and back onto the rooftops, well out of Heero's range. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop with ease and silence, he makes his way around to behind Heero's location undetected. Reaching into his pocket for his materials, he sizes the other boy up and creates a smoke bomb strong enough to take the sniper out.

Solo digs a metal mask out of his pocket and secures it over his face. Wouldn't do for his clients to get a good enough look at him to be able to snitch. Checking the bomb one more time, he gauges the distance and chucks it so it lands several feet in front of Heero and disperses the smoke upon impact with the ground.

noheero

It had been so close.

Almost a clean shot.

Heero's lips pull thin. He lets off several rounds in protest. Tranquilizers bury themselves in shabby adobe and ping off of metal sheeting. They throttle out a tantrum on the rooftops, but never make their mark. The moment his targets vanish, He sits up and begins disassembling his weapon. It's quick work. Heero's hands move without thought - twisting, unlatching, disconnecting. He knows he doesn't have much time, but assumes he has more than Solo permits.

The smoke bomb bounces like a baby rabbit before spraying it's contents up from the grass. Immediately, Heero stands. He runs to kick it down the hillside, but even as it retreats from his boot, his eyes and throat are left burning. It's fumes are too noxious for the wind to readily carry. He coughs. And coughs. And coughs while blindly reaching into his backpack for his oxygen mask.

From Solo's perspective, there is an audible struggle to breathe heard behind clouds of smoke. And then silence. The pause is long, but misleading. As he begins his approach, he is greeted by the unfriendly figure that opened fire on his comrades. Heero bursts through the plume with a pistol at the ready. Its evident, right away, that this boy is not an amateur. He squeezes the trigger in rapid succession, littering the field between them with tranqs. A mean looking tablet plants itself near Solo's left foot and releases it's sedative into the L2s manufactured dirt.

It would have been well-aimed, if the shooter had not been gassed. Even with his blurring vision and worsening nausea, he charges forward. Silent and determined to bring his enemy down.

the-older-maxwell

Jumping back and away from the shot that barely

misses him, he turns on his heel and runs backwards, vaulting across the alleyway to get back up to the rooftops. as more shots ring out, he snarls and drops back down to hide behind a dumpster.

Waiting there until the shots stop when Heero has to reload, he springs forward and slides down to his knees kicking Heero's legs out from under him. He then elbows the fallen agent under the chin to stun him while he grabs the rifle and runs back out of the alley, and across the open field back towards the warehouse. On a sudden impulse he stops and crawls up a nearby tree. Barely breaking a sweat the boy calmly waits for his hunter to return.

noheero

The target is fast.

He has his surroundings memorized and doesn't need to calculate a route before leaping into action. Before Heero can close in, the dealer is gone.

CLICK CLICK CLICK

The Preventer takes a few, habitual steps backwards while ejecting his pistol's empty cartridge. He knows that distance is a valuable tool during combat, but it's hard to discern what direction he should move in to acquire it. His eyes are on fire. Tears flow to quench the burn - automatic and emotionless. They fog up his plastic air-mask.

A blow to his knees; an abrasion to the chin. Solo's strike sends a loud CRACK through Heero's aspiration device. He can see the slim line of a break in it's plastic as he falls backwards. That, beyond the pain in his jaw and the loss of his gun, is a problem. He pulls the mask off as his attacker flees. He is not stunned, but he is irritated and up quickly enough to pose a threat.

Heero is also fast.

Unfortunately, his lungs don't want to cooperate with the pace of his boots. They snap tight, reminding him that he may have inhaled a little too much of whatever had been in that canister. He conceals his mouth with one arm and coughs into his elbow while continuing to run. His steps slow as he passes a treeline. The branches of bushes shake along his quarry's path. They hint at Solo's location while threatening to giveaway Heero's.

the-older-maxwell

As Heero approaches the tree line Solo jumps down on him, effortlessly landing directly behind him and pressing a blade to his throat.

A rough voice -Evidence of damaged lungs- whispers in Heero's ear. "You know, for the Perfect Soldier I would have expected better" The shorter boy allows the blade to nick a fine line across Heero's neck as he knocks the boy down again by kicking his knees out, this time from the side. Crouching down above him, Heero finds himself face to face with the most abnormal green eyes he's ever seen.

"You may be the hot shot number one where you come from, but you're out of your comfort zone… And directly in mine" Shoving off of Heero's chest and lighting a cigarette above him just as Heero feels a sharp stab in his side. "Stay down and go crawl back home like a good little soldier. I've got a job to do"

As Solo saunters back off into the shadows, Heero is forced to stay down and watch as his own tranquilizer is injected into his side. It may not completely incapacitate the genetically modified man, but it stops him from following his target.

Several hours later, Heero is finally able to move

noheero

There is always a period of paralysis. He's seen it, after rousing men in custody. It is not an intentional side effect of the tranquillizers, but it is a useful one. At least, when handling an enemy. It's less-useful now, while he's lying with one cheek in the dirt and branches between his ribs.

Heero waits. He replays pieces of Solo's mockery in his head and wonders how many nameless men have offered the same taunts— wonders if maybe they are true. Maybe he's getting soft. Doctor J had subjected him to 'enhancement', but it could have been a temporary fix. Rounding the corner to twenty-one, Heero may be outgrowing his luck.

Pi-di-di-di

Pi-di-di-di

His fingers twitch. Heero grunts before sorely forcing his arm down towards his hip. He fights against the vibrating communicator in his pocket, failing several times to pull it from the confines of his jeans only to drop it in the soil after succeeding. It continues crying above his clumsy handling, demanding an answer. Eventually, he's able to curl onto his side, press the speak button and prop it near his mouth.

"Agent Yuy."

"Heero, your tracker has been still for sixty minutes. What's happening?" Noin's voice holds urgency. She's worried.

"I was immobilized."

"What's your condition?"

"Stable…No injuries."

"And the target?"

A long pause. Heero slowly pushes himself up from the ground and expels a breath of effort into the comm before continuing the conversation.

"Unable to apprehend. Requesting permission to use unconventional means."

Hunter or Hunted

the-older-maxwell

Heero doesn't move fast right away. He rises from the earth slowly and takes a moment to check his pockets. It feels good when Duo's cross tinkers against his fingers, still in the safety of a fabric corner. He hadn't meant to take it…was just holding into it during the scans. Something about the machine being a 'huge magnet' – no jewelry allowed. But it's been weeks now and when it's with him, so is his partner. It doesn't bother him much, that one of his guns went with Solo. It may even be a good thing, considering it's settings. He shifts through his travel pack for a less-impressive replacement. After loading it, he's on his way. First with quick steps, then a jog. It's not until he's cocked that he breaks into a run for the warehouse.

Heero is swift, but discrete.

Sabotage is a game he's used to; a game he's good at. Especially in the dark type of space he's been provided. No sharp corners here, just a maze of buildings and scrap. It's easy to navigate around, as long as he's paying attention. He darts between shadows while in possession of two objects: A gun and a sticky bomb. They're all he needs. The guards move like a couple a clock hands around their post. Only two this time…maybe that's why he doesn't feel the need to sedate them. Or maybe, he's gained a little bit of empathy after his latest experience with tranquilizers.

He makes it to the west wall of his destination, where a narrow window waits. It's the same window that had refused to give him a glimpse of the ring's merchandise through his scope hour prior. He rises to his tiptoes and taps the glass with the butt of his pistol. Surprise, surprise. It shatters easily. And gracefully. It's quiet, like malformed ice in early winter. Probably too old to hold it's shape or protest breakage. Heero wastes no time in dropping his canister between its remains and immediately squats low against the adobe wall. He covers his ears, even though he's been told, several times, that such habits aren't necessarily for this, particular weapon. He still expects a BLAST, still expects fire and pain, still feels he shouldn't be half as close as the instructions read.

But this is a Preventer Sticky Bomb.

A pacifist's tool.

And it doesn't behave like an explosive. There is just a low rumbling that has Solo's men wondering if a shelf has fallen before an off-putting SPLAT sounds throughout the building. They open the door to find their entire inventory has been turned into an solid mass of unusual garbage - a mock art exhibit of triggers and barrels stuck in eternal adhesive. It's basically a room of cement now and the culprit has vanished into the cover of his surroundings. He smirks to himself upon hearing an exclamation of dismay. Now…. to find his assailant - the presumed ringleader of this mess. He can't leave without bringing Solo in.

oheero

Hunter or Hunted

the-older-maxwell

Heero doesn't move fast right away. He rises from the earth slowly and takes a moment to check his pockets. It feels good when Duo's cross tinkers against his fingers, still in the safety of a fabric corner. He hadn't meant to take it…was just holding into it during the scans. Something about the machine being a 'huge magnet' – no jewelry allowed. But it's been weeks now and when it's with him, so is his partner. It doesn't bother him much, that one of his guns went with Solo. It may even be a good thing, considering it's settings. He shifts through his travel pack for a less-impressive replacement. After loading it, he's on his way. First with quick steps, then a jog. It's not until he's cocked that he breaks into a run for the warehouse.

Heero is swift, but discrete.

Sabotage is a game he's used to; a game he's good at. Especially in the dark type of space he's been provided. No sharp corners here, just a maze of buildings and scrap. It's easy to navigate around, as long as he's paying attention. He darts between shadows while in possession of two objects: A gun and a sticky bomb. They're all he needs. The guards move like a couple a clock hands around their post. Only two this time…maybe that's why he doesn't feel the need to sedate them. Or maybe, he's gained a little bit of empathy after his latest experience with tranquilizers.

He makes it to the west wall of his destination, where a narrow window waits. It's the same window that had refused to give him a glimpse of the ring's merchandise through his scope hour prior. He rises to his tiptoes and taps the glass with the butt of his pistol. Surprise, surprise. It shatters easily. And gracefully. It's quiet, like malformed ice in early winter. Probably too old to hold it's shape or protest breakage. Heero wastes no time in dropping his canister between its remains and immediately squats low against the adobe wall. He covers his ears, even though he's been told, several times, that such habits aren't necessarily for this, particular weapon. He still expects a BLAST, still expects fire and pain, still feels he shouldn't be half as close as the instructions read.

But this is a Preventer Sticky Bomb.

A pacifist's tool.

And it doesn't behave like an explosive. There is just a low rumbling that has Solo's men wondering if a shelf has fallen before an off-putting SPLAT sounds throughout the building. They open the door to find their entire inventory has been turned into an solid mass of unusual garbage - a mock art exhibit of triggers and barrels stuck in eternal adhesive. It's basically a room of cement now and the culprit has vanished into the cover of his surroundings. He smirks to himself upon hearing an exclamation of dismay. Now…. to find his assailant - the presumed ringleader of this mess. He can't leave without bringing Solo in.

the-older-maxwell

noheero

It started with a cough, innocently integrating itself into his morning. Come lunch it was wheezing, but by midday sickness had completely overtaken the boys body. Stumbling heavily into his second in command as shivers struck like convulsions on his thin frame. Fever was clouding his eyes and flawing his judgment, the two struggled their way to an abandoned bar.

The place was heavily rundown but sequestered away from the rest of the world, allowing for a safe haven for the sick boy to recover. The lower level is below ground and cooler than the streets, helping soothe a fever and keeping the sounds from above ground muffled.

Green eyes struggle to focus as his worried friend looks on. "Voy a tomar medicamentos. Stay here, I'll be back soon". A brief kiss is placed to the fevered forehead as the older boy stands up and leaves, locking up behind himself.

Fading in and out of consciousness, Solo is woken by the unfamiliar footsteps of an intruder coming from above. A coughing fit overtakes him as damaged lungs cough up thick dark fluid. Despite this, he shoves himself to his feet and grabs the large hunting knife from the floor as he looks up into the eyes of his hunter.

"Seems luck is on your side, soldier boy…"

noheero

"Luck has nothing to do with it."

Heero's statement is a fact. Not a trace of pleasure lines its pronunciation. He stands just beyond the bar's doorway with his feet apart and his handgun at the ready. The weapon seems to stare at Solo with the same, steely apathy of its owner. It's hard not to notice the smudge of soil on his cheek. He's got mud on one side of his jacket; a remnant of his involuntary nap.

"You're not in any condition to fight." Also a fact. Even if Heero hadn't witnessed several fevered failures to rest, Solo's hacking would have been evidence enough. The arms dealer appears flushed. Sweat clings to his face and neck. The dark puddle he's made on the floor could be mucus, but looks more like blood…which is never a good sign. "It's my mission to bring you in alive. Don't make it difficult.

noheero

Hunter or Hunted

the-older-maxwell

Heero doesn't move fast right away. He rises from the earth slowly and takes a moment to check his pockets. It feels good when Duo's cross tinkers against his fingers, still in the safety of a fabric corner. He hadn't meant to take it…was just holding into it during the scans. Something about the machine being a 'huge magnet' – no jewelry allowed. But it's been weeks now and when it's with him, so is his partner. It doesn't bother him much, that one of his guns went with Solo. It may even be a good thing, considering it's settings. He shifts through his travel pack for a less-impressive replacement. After loading it, he's on his way. First with quick steps, then a jog. It's not until he's cocked that he breaks into a run for the warehouse.

Heero is swift, but discrete.

Sabotage is a game he's used to; a game he's good at. Especially in the dark type of space he's been provided. No sharp corners here, just a maze of buildings and scrap. It's easy to navigate around, as long as he's paying attention. He darts between shadows while in possession of two objects: A gun and a sticky bomb. They're all he needs. The guards move like a couple a clock hands around their post. Only two this time…maybe that's why he doesn't feel the need to sedate them. Or maybe, he's gained a little bit of empathy after his latest experience with tranquilizers.

He makes it to the west wall of his destination, where a narrow window waits. It's the same window that had refused to give him a glimpse of the ring's merchandise through his scope hour prior. He rises to his tiptoes and taps the glass with the butt of his pistol. Surprise, surprise. It shatters easily. And gracefully. It's quiet, like malformed ice in early winter. Probably too old to hold it's shape or protest breakage. Heero wastes no time in dropping his canister between its remains and immediately squats low against the adobe wall. He covers his ears, even though he's been told, several times, that such habits aren't necessarily for this, particular weapon. He still expects a BLAST, still expects fire and pain, still feels he shouldn't be half as close as the instructions read.

But this is a Preventer Sticky Bomb.

A pacifist's tool.

And it doesn't behave like an explosive. There is just a low rumbling that has Solo's men wondering if a shelf has fallen before an off-putting SPLAT sounds throughout the building. They open the door to find their entire inventory has been turned into an solid mass of unusual garbage - a mock art exhibit of triggers and barrels stuck in eternal adhesive. It's basically a room of cement now and the culprit has vanished into the cover of his surroundings. He smirks to himself upon hearing an exclamation of dismay. Now…. to find his assailant - the presumed ringleader of this mess. He can't leave without bringing Solo in.

the-older-maxwell

noheero

It started with a cough, innocently integrating itself into his morning. Come lunch it was wheezing, but by midday sickness had completely overtaken the boys body. Stumbling heavily into his second in command as shivers struck like convulsions on his thin frame. Fever was clouding his eyes and flawing his judgment, the two struggled their way to an abandoned bar.

The place was heavily rundown but sequestered away from the rest of the world, allowing for a safe haven for the sick boy to recover. The lower level is below ground and cooler than the streets, helping soothe a fever and keeping the sounds from above ground muffled.

Green eyes struggle to focus as his worried friend looks on. "Voy a tomar medicamentos. Stay here, I'll be back soon". A brief kiss is placed to the fevered forehead as the older boy stands up and leaves, locking up behind himself.

Fading in and out of consciousness, Solo is woken by the unfamiliar footsteps of an intruder coming from above. A coughing fit overtakes him as damaged lungs cough up thick dark fluid. Despite this, he shoves himself to his feet and grabs the large hunting knife from the floor as he looks up into the eyes of his hunter.

"Seems luck is on your side, soldier boy…"

noheero

"Luck has nothing to do with it."

Heero's statement is a fact. Not a trace of pleasure lines its pronunciation. He stands just beyond the bar's doorway with his feet apart and his handgun at the ready. The weapon seems to stare at Solo with the same, steely apathy of its owner. It's hard not to notice the smudge of soil on his cheek. He's got mud on one side of his jacket; a remnant of his involuntary nap.

"You're not in any condition to fight." Also a fact. Even if Heero hadn't witnessed several fevered failures to rest, Solo's hacking would have been evidence enough. The arms dealer appears flushed. Sweat clings to his face and neck. The dark puddle he's made on the floor could be mucus, but looks more like blood…which is never a good sign. "It's my mission to bring you in alive. Don't make it difficult."

the-older-maxwell

"Your mission, huh?" Solo clicks his tongue, "What do you think arresting me is going to accomplish? There will always be another that rises in my place. Maybe it'll be some time, but dealing is a way of surviving here." A cough, then a wheeze, "You can't think about where those guns are going. Who's hand they'll be in next, or what they're going to do with those guns… you just create. Sell. Survive."

At the last punctuation the dark skinned youth flicks his wrists to send the blade flying, hitting just under his mark and ending in the agents rib cage. Nothing vital hit, but still a sharp pain.

When a bullet is shot at him he twists just in time for it to nick his thigh, not shatter his knee. The movement sends him colliding with the wall and sliding down to the floor- the stress of his sickness, the quick movement and the bullet wound causing him to slip into unconsciousness- collapsing into a heap.

As Heero moves to cuff the boy, he hears the telltale sound of a shotgun being cocked. The blond is back, and not happy to have an intruder. As his eyes survey the room and the state of the two boys, he sighs roughly. "You'll get him medical attention? For the bullet and this sickness?" At Heero's nod of affirmative, he resets the safety on the rifle. "Then go. Take him. There's no medication here that can save him, but maybe with your government funding and resources you can."

Luka moves to the side to face Heero and allow him access to the stairs, "I am not your mission. Leave me, save him… and I will be Preventers eyes and ears in this underground"

noheero

He thinks about pulling the trigger a little early; of cutting off Solo's monologue about job security. But, he doesn't. He sits in the moment, waiting for the atmosphere to shift. He knows that everything will go fast, once they start. He knows that he'll enjoy the dizzying feel of his own, elevated heartbeat when it's over. Heero wants to build up to his high, so he listens. He absorbs his enemies voice and appearance until Solo slams down on life's fast-forward Button.

He attacks and everything becomes a blur. Fortunately, Heero's arm is steady. His knows how to aim for a blur. He automatically follows Solo's trajectory. His heart pauses when it senses an opportunity to strike. It pulls the string to his trigger finger. Solo goes down, like he should. Its a victory and yet, Heero makes no sound of celebration. There is always something sickening about sudden stillness…he's never liked being face-to-face with it. Doesn't like causing it.

Just likes the motion that leads to it.

Now, he lowers his gun because it feels too damn heavy. He doesn't put it away, because his training demands that he has it in hand until confirming the state of his opponent. He stabilizes his firearm over one thigh with the grip of both hands; muzzle to the ground. There is pain. He's vaguely aware of damage - somewhere central, but his tolerance is greater than most. It allows him to banish searing discomfort to the background of his thoughts until the scene is secure. He bends to apply restraints.

Ch-CHCK

A Shotgun.

The Preventer stops. He does not freeze, as a rabbit does when hiding in plain sight. Instead he stops, like a dog that's been interrupted from it's meal. The sort that lifts it's head, but remains statuesque over it's food dish; expectant and secretively hostile. Heero turns his face to acknowledge the intruder. The rest of him seems to remain stationary, but a soft click of cuffs advises otherwise. After receiving permission he didn't ask for, the pulls Solo into his back. It's impressive. The agent isn't large. He's lean, and young and short, but he makes the task look easy.

"He'll receive treatment. It's part of the process."

Luka's terms are a little too cooperative and Heero half-expects to be shot in the back…because that's what these people do. Show them a little mercy and they bury a couple of bullets in your spine. Yours, or your partner's. He locks eyes with this new, plausible threat while passing. It's not an intentional moment of prolonged eye contact - Just a consequence of trying to read what sort of person Luka is. Heero isn't interested enough to ask, though. He leaves the area at a good pace, displaying strength that he shouldn't be capable of.

He rushes towards the Rendezvous point. It rests beyond the boarder of Solo's operation. (At least, according to Intel.) The warehouse that Solo had used as refuge is farther than Heero would have liked. He knows he can't travel fast enough while carrying a bounty and bleeding. Yes, bleeding. He can feel the sharp presence of metal in his side, cutting a little further each time he steps forward. He can feel the fleeting warmth of blood as it soaks down his shirt. It's time for that assessment. Amidst of garden of abandoned cars he halts, lowers to his knees and gently drops the other from his back.

He doesn't spend much time examining the slim handle protruding from beneath his ribs. It is what it is. Removing it will likely cause more damage and excessive blood loss. If the blade had hit anything vital, he would have been rendered immobile by now. (Probably.) Heero scans the cuffed criminal at his side, who is in considerably-worse condition. Ragged breathing. White flesh. He'll die without immediate medical attention. The agent doesn't want that. He's no longer in the business of killing people.

He places a call to headquarters.

noheero reblogged preventergold

noheero asked:

Bi-Beep Bi-Beep Bi-Beep - [ Incoming call from Agent Yuy ] - Bi-Beep Bi-Beep Bi-Beep

preventergold answered:

[Answers] "Preventer Command, Secured Line. Identify your mission and Code Name."

noheero

"L2 Intercept. Steel. Requesting permission to speak freely."

preventergold

"Permission granted, Steel. We're tracing your location at this time, are you compromised?"

noheero

"Affirmative. Can't reach the rendezvous point in the time permitted. I need medics. The target is in Delta condition. One gunshot to the upper leg, unspecified illnesses. Unconscious. Standby for coordinates…."

Heero provides their location and ends his transmission with a stern, 'Steel Out.' He peers back at present company, newly-receptive to the details that comprise Solo Maxwell.

noheero

Hunter or Hunted

the-older-maxwell

Heero doesn't move fast right away. He rises from the earth slowly and takes a moment to check his pockets. It feels good when Duo's cross tinkers against his fingers, still in the safety of a fabric corner. He hadn't meant to take it…was just holding into it during the scans. Something about the machine being a 'huge magnet' – no jewelry allowed. But it's been weeks now and when it's with him, so is his partner. It doesn't bother him much, that one of his guns went with Solo. It may even be a good thing, considering it's settings. He shifts through his travel pack for a less-impressive replacement. After loading it, he's on his way. First with quick steps, then a jog. It's not until he's cocked that he breaks into a run for the warehouse.

Heero is swift, but discrete.

Sabotage is a game he's used to; a game he's good at. Especially in the dark type of space he's been provided. No sharp corners here, just a maze of buildings and scrap. It's easy to navigate around, as long as he's paying attention. He darts between shadows while in possession of two objects: A gun and a sticky bomb. They're all he needs. The guards move like a couple a clock hands around their post. Only two this time…maybe that's why he doesn't feel the need to sedate them. Or maybe, he's gained a little bit of empathy after his latest experience with tranquilizers.

He makes it to the west wall of his destination, where a narrow window waits. It's the same window that had refused to give him a glimpse of the ring's merchandise through his scope hour prior. He rises to his tiptoes and taps the glass with the butt of his pistol. Surprise, surprise. It shatters easily. And gracefully. It's quiet, like malformed ice in early winter. Probably too old to hold it's shape or protest breakage. Heero wastes no time in dropping his canister between its remains and immediately squats low against the adobe wall. He covers his ears, even though he's been told, several times, that such habits aren't necessarily for this, particular weapon. He still expects a BLAST, still expects fire and pain, still feels he shouldn't be half as close as the instructions read.

But this is a Preventer Sticky Bomb.

A pacifist's tool.

And it doesn't behave like an explosive. There is just a low rumbling that has Solo's men wondering if a shelf has fallen before an off-putting SPLAT sounds throughout the building. They open the door to find their entire inventory has been turned into an solid mass of unusual garbage - a mock art exhibit of triggers and barrels stuck in eternal adhesive. It's basically a room of cement now and the culprit has vanished into the cover of his surroundings. He smirks to himself upon hearing an exclamation of dismay. Now…. to find his assailant - the presumed ringleader of this mess. He can't leave without bringing Solo in.

the-older-maxwell

noheero

It started with a cough, innocently integrating itself into his morning. Come lunch it was wheezing, but by midday sickness had completely overtaken the boys body. Stumbling heavily into his second in command as shivers struck like convulsions on his thin frame. Fever was clouding his eyes and flawing his judgment, the two struggled their way to an abandoned bar.

The place was heavily rundown but sequestered away from the rest of the world, allowing for a safe haven for the sick boy to recover. The lower level is below ground and cooler than the streets, helping soothe a fever and keeping the sounds from above ground muffled.

Green eyes struggle to focus as his worried friend looks on. "Voy a tomar medicamentos. Stay here, I'll be back soon". A brief kiss is placed to the fevered forehead as the older boy stands up and leaves, locking up behind himself.

Fading in and out of consciousness, Solo is woken by the unfamiliar footsteps of an intruder coming from above. A coughing fit overtakes him as damaged lungs cough up thick dark fluid. Despite this, he shoves himself to his feet and grabs the large hunting knife from the floor as he looks up into the eyes of his hunter.

"Seems luck is on your side, soldier boy…"

noheero

"Luck has nothing to do with it."

Heero's statement is a fact. Not a trace of pleasure lines its pronunciation. He stands just beyond the bar's doorway with his feet apart and his handgun at the ready. The weapon seems to stare at Solo with the same, steely apathy of its owner. It's hard not to notice the smudge of soil on his cheek. He's got mud on one side of his jacket; a remnant of his involuntary nap.

"You're not in any condition to fight." Also a fact. Even if Heero hadn't witnessed several fevered failures to rest, Solo's hacking would have been evidence enough. The arms dealer appears flushed. Sweat clings to his face and neck. The dark puddle he's made on the floor could be mucus, but looks more like blood…which is never a good sign. "It's my mission to bring you in alive. Don't make it difficult."

the-older-maxwell

"Your mission, huh?" Solo clicks his tongue, "What do you think arresting me is going to accomplish? There will always be another that rises in my place. Maybe it'll be some time, but dealing is a way of surviving here." A cough, then a wheeze, "You can't think about where those guns are going. Who's hand they'll be in next, or what they're going to do with those guns… you just create. Sell. Survive."

At the last punctuation the dark skinned youth flicks his wrists to send the blade flying, hitting just under his mark and ending in the agents rib cage. Nothing vital hit, but still a sharp pain.

When a bullet is shot at him he twists just in time for it to nick his thigh, not shatter his knee. The movement sends him colliding with the wall and sliding down to the floor- the stress of his sickness, the quick movement and the bullet wound causing him to slip into unconsciousness- collapsing into a heap.

As Heero moves to cuff the boy, he hears the telltale sound of a shotgun being cocked. The blond is back, and not happy to have an intruder. As his eyes survey the room and the state of the two boys, he sighs roughly. "You'll get him medical attention? For the bullet and this sickness?" At Heero's nod of affirmative, he resets the safety on the rifle. "Then go. Take him. There's no medication here that can save him, but maybe with your government funding and resources you can."

Luka moves to the side to face Heero and allow him access to the stairs, "I am not your mission. Leave me, save him… and I will be Preventers eyes and ears in this underground"

noheero

He thinks about pulling the trigger a little early; of cutting off Solo's monologue about job security. But, he doesn't. He sits in the moment, waiting for the atmosphere to shift. He knows that everything will go fast, once they start. He knows that he'll enjoy the dizzying feel of his own, elevated heartbeat when it's over. Heero wants to build up to his high, so he listens. He absorbs his enemies voice and appearance until Solo slams down on life's fast-forward Button.

He attacks and everything becomes a blur. Fortunately, Heero's arm is steady. His knows how to aim for a blur. He automatically follows Solo's trajectory. His heart pauses when it senses an opportunity to strike. It pulls the string to his trigger finger. Solo goes down, like he should. Its a victory and yet, Heero makes no sound of celebration. There is always something sickening about sudden stillness…he's never liked being face-to-face with it. Doesn't like causing it.

Just likes the motion that leads to it.

Now, he lowers his gun because it feels too damn heavy. He doesn't put it away, because his training demands that he has it in hand until confirming the state of his opponent. He stabilizes his firearm over one thigh with the grip of both hands; muzzle to the ground. There is pain. He's vaguely aware of damage - somewhere central, but his tolerance is greater than most. It allows him to banish searing discomfort to the background of his thoughts until the scene is secure. He bends to apply restraints.

Ch-CHCK

A Shotgun.

The Preventer stops. He does not freeze, as a rabbit does when hiding in plain sight. Instead he stops, like a dog that's been interrupted from it's meal. The sort that lifts it's head, but remains statuesque over it's food dish; expectant and secretively hostile. Heero turns his face to acknowledge the intruder. The rest of him seems to remain stationary, but a soft click of cuffs advises otherwise. After receiving permission he didn't ask for, the pulls Solo into his back. It's impressive. The agent isn't large. He's lean, and young and short, but he makes the task look easy.

"He'll receive treatment. It's part of the process."

Luka's terms are a little too cooperative and Heero half-expects to be shot in the back…because that's what these people do. Show them a little mercy and they bury a couple of bullets in your spine. Yours, or your partner's. He locks eyes with this new, plausible threat while passing. It's not an intentional moment of prolonged eye contact - Just a consequence of trying to read what sort of person Luka is. Heero isn't interested enough to ask, though. He leaves the area at a good pace, displaying strength that he shouldn't be capable of.

He rushes towards the Rendezvous point. It rests beyond the boarder of Solo's operation. (At least, according to Intel.) The warehouse that Solo had used as refuge is farther than Heero would have liked. He knows he can't travel fast enough while carrying a bounty and bleeding. Yes, bleeding. He can feel the sharp presence of metal in his side, cutting a little further each time he steps forward. He can feel the fleeting warmth of blood as it soaks down his shirt. It's time for that assessment. Amidst of garden of abandoned cars he halts, lowers to his knees and gently drops the other from his back.

He doesn't spend much time examining the slim handle protruding from beneath his ribs. It is what it is. Removing it will likely cause more damage and excessive blood loss. If the blade had hit anything vital, he would have been rendered immobile by now. (Probably.) Heero scans the cuffed criminal at his side, who is in considerably-worse condition. Ragged breathing. White flesh. He'll die without immediate medical attention. The agent doesn't want that. He's no longer in the business of killing people.

He places a call to headquarters.

the-older-maxwell

The youth turns onto his side as he is set onto the ground, starting to cough again. He attempts to bring his hands to rub at his chest but is brought short by the restraints. "Maldacion…" he groans and rolls onto his back. "S'malo esta vez" His voice is slurred, a rough gurgle coming from his chest.

His head rolls to the side and green eyes meet Heero's. "Guess there's no chance in you just leaving me here?" Through the sweat and pale skin, he has a look in his eyes that Heero knows well. It's one he's seen often. The look of a man who knows his fate. He coughs a little louder, then tries to shimmy his way out of the cuffs.

Quickly tiring of shuffling the restraints, he just lays back as they await transport. "So… whatcha gonna do with me now that I'm 'caught'?"

noheero

Heero is in the middle of sifting through his backpack when his captive becomes conscious. He pauses and watches with some interest, before continuing to grapple through hidden contents. It's hard to dig efficiently with a knife in his side. Each time he moves a little too far for its liking, it bites against his ribs. Somewhere, he has a vile of Coagullodion. If he can just find it-

'Guess there's no chance in you just leaving me here?'

"You'd die." He doesn't look up from what he's doing. Even so, his answer holds certainty. Solo dying isn't a possibility, it's a fact…and it's happening right now. Heero withdraws a first aid kit from his travel sac. It looks brand-new. He sweeps over its inventory with his eyes. It's obvious when he finds what he is looking for. His entire body stiffens and his hand shoots forward to retrieve a tiny bottle.

He shakes it before unscrewing the lid and dabbing clear liquid around the entry point of Solo's knife. He's good at ignoring pain – or at least, good at pretending to ignore pain. The agent doesn't surrender a single flinch while administering the fluid. When he's finished, his attention returns to his sickly counterpart. "You'll be transported to headquarters and hospitalized. After that, you'll probably stand trial."

Finished, he lowers the vile to the ground and rolls it into Solo's reach. Its cap has been screwed tightly back in place. "That's a Coagulant. Put it on your wound. You cant afford to lose anymore blood."

noheero

Hunter or Hunted

the-older-maxwell

Heero doesn't move fast right away. He rises from the earth slowly and takes a moment to check his pockets. It feels good when Duo's cross tinkers against his fingers, still in the safety of a fabric corner. He hadn't meant to take it…was just holding into it during the scans. Something about the machine being a 'huge magnet' – no jewelry allowed. But it's been weeks now and when it's with him, so is his partner. It doesn't bother him much, that one of his guns went with Solo. It may even be a good thing, considering it's settings. He shifts through his travel pack for a less-impressive replacement. After loading it, he's on his way. First with quick steps, then a jog. It's not until he's cocked that he breaks into a run for the warehouse.

Heero is swift, but discrete.

Sabotage is a game he's used to; a game he's good at. Especially in the dark type of space he's been provided. No sharp corners here, just a maze of buildings and scrap. It's easy to navigate around, as long as he's paying attention. He darts between shadows while in possession of two objects: A gun and a sticky bomb. They're all he needs. The guards move like a couple a clock hands around their post. Only two this time…maybe that's why he doesn't feel the need to sedate them. Or maybe, he's gained a little bit of empathy after his latest experience with tranquilizers.

He makes it to the west wall of his destination, where a narrow window waits. It's the same window that had refused to give him a glimpse of the ring's merchandise through his scope hour prior. He rises to his tiptoes and taps the glass with the butt of his pistol. Surprise, surprise. It shatters easily. And gracefully. It's quiet, like malformed ice in early winter. Probably too old to hold it's shape or protest breakage. Heero wastes no time in dropping his canister between its remains and immediately squats low against the adobe wall. He covers his ears, even though he's been told, several times, that such habits aren't necessarily for this, particular weapon. He still expects a BLAST, still expects fire and pain, still feels he shouldn't be half as close as the instructions read.

But this is a Preventer Sticky Bomb.

A pacifist's tool.

And it doesn't behave like an explosive. There is just a low rumbling that has Solo's men wondering if a shelf has fallen before an off-putting SPLAT sounds throughout the building. They open the door to find their entire inventory has been turned into an solid mass of unusual garbage - a mock art exhibit of triggers and barrels stuck in eternal adhesive. It's basically a room of cement now and the culprit has vanished into the cover of his surroundings. He smirks to himself upon hearing an exclamation of dismay. Now…. to find his assailant - the presumed ringleader of this mess. He can't leave without bringing Solo in.

the-older-maxwell

noheero

It started with a cough, innocently integrating itself into his morning. Come lunch it was wheezing, but by midday sickness had completely overtaken the boys body. Stumbling heavily into his second in command as shivers struck like convulsions on his thin frame. Fever was clouding his eyes and flawing his judgment, the two struggled their way to an abandoned bar.

The place was heavily rundown but sequestered away from the rest of the world, allowing for a safe haven for the sick boy to recover. The lower level is below ground and cooler than the streets, helping soothe a fever and keeping the sounds from above ground muffled.

Green eyes struggle to focus as his worried friend looks on. "Voy a tomar medicamentos. Stay here, I'll be back soon". A brief kiss is placed to the fevered forehead as the older boy stands up and leaves, locking up behind himself.

Fading in and out of consciousness, Solo is woken by the unfamiliar footsteps of an intruder coming from above. A coughing fit overtakes him as damaged lungs cough up thick dark fluid. Despite this, he shoves himself to his feet and grabs the large hunting knife from the floor as he looks up into the eyes of his hunter.

"Seems luck is on your side, soldier boy…"

noheero

"Luck has nothing to do with it."

Heero's statement is a fact. Not a trace of pleasure lines its pronunciation. He stands just beyond the bar's doorway with his feet apart and his handgun at the ready. The weapon seems to stare at Solo with the same, steely apathy of its owner. It's hard not to notice the smudge of soil on his cheek. He's got mud on one side of his jacket; a remnant of his involuntary nap.

"You're not in any condition to fight." Also a fact. Even if Heero hadn't witnessed several fevered failures to rest, Solo's hacking would have been evidence enough. The arms dealer appears flushed. Sweat clings to his face and neck. The dark puddle he's made on the floor could be mucus, but looks more like blood…which is never a good sign. "It's my mission to bring you in alive. Don't make it difficult."

the-older-maxwell

"Your mission, huh?" Solo clicks his tongue, "What do you think arresting me is going to accomplish? There will always be another that rises in my place. Maybe it'll be some time, but dealing is a way of surviving here." A cough, then a wheeze, "You can't think about where those guns are going. Who's hand they'll be in next, or what they're going to do with those guns… you just create. Sell. Survive."

At the last punctuation the dark skinned youth flicks his wrists to send the blade flying, hitting just under his mark and ending in the agents rib cage. Nothing vital hit, but still a sharp pain.

When a bullet is shot at him he twists just in time for it to nick his thigh, not shatter his knee. The movement sends him colliding with the wall and sliding down to the floor- the stress of his sickness, the quick movement and the bullet wound causing him to slip into unconsciousness- collapsing into a heap.

As Heero moves to cuff the boy, he hears the telltale sound of a shotgun being cocked. The blond is back, and not happy to have an intruder. As his eyes survey the room and the state of the two boys, he sighs roughly. "You'll get him medical attention? For the bullet and this sickness?" At Heero's nod of affirmative, he resets the safety on the rifle. "Then go. Take him. There's no medication here that can save him, but maybe with your government funding and resources you can."

Luka moves to the side to face Heero and allow him access to the stairs, "I am not your mission. Leave me, save him… and I will be Preventers eyes and ears in this underground"

noheero

He thinks about pulling the trigger a little early; of cutting off Solo's monologue about job security. But, he doesn't. He sits in the moment, waiting for the atmosphere to shift. He knows that everything will go fast, once they start. He knows that he'll enjoy the dizzying feel of his own, elevated heartbeat when it's over. Heero wants to build up to his high, so he listens. He absorbs his enemies voice and appearance until Solo slams down on life's fast-forward Button.

He attacks and everything becomes a blur. Fortunately, Heero's arm is steady. His knows how to aim for a blur. He automatically follows Solo's trajectory. His heart pauses when it senses an opportunity to strike. It pulls the string to his trigger finger. Solo goes down, like he should. Its a victory and yet, Heero makes no sound of celebration. There is always something sickening about sudden stillness…he's never liked being face-to-face with it. Doesn't like causing it.

Just likes the motion that leads to it.

Now, he lowers his gun because it feels too damn heavy. He doesn't put it away, because his training demands that he has it in hand until confirming the state of his opponent. He stabilizes his firearm over one thigh with the grip of both hands; muzzle to the ground. There is pain. He's vaguely aware of damage - somewhere central, but his tolerance is greater than most. It allows him to banish searing discomfort to the background of his thoughts until the scene is secure. He bends to apply restraints.

Ch-CHCK

A Shotgun.

The Preventer stops. He does not freeze, as a rabbit does when hiding in plain sight. Instead he stops, like a dog that's been interrupted from it's meal. The sort that lifts it's head, but remains statuesque over it's food dish; expectant and secretively hostile. Heero turns his face to acknowledge the intruder. The rest of him seems to remain stationary, but a soft click of cuffs advises otherwise. After receiving permission he didn't ask for, the pulls Solo into his back. It's impressive. The agent isn't large. He's lean, and young and short, but he makes the task look easy.

"He'll receive treatment. It's part of the process."

Luka's terms are a little too cooperative and Heero half-expects to be shot in the back…because that's what these people do. Show them a little mercy and they bury a couple of bullets in your spine. Yours, or your partner's. He locks eyes with this new, plausible threat while passing. It's not an intentional moment of prolonged eye contact - Just a consequence of trying to read what sort of person Luka is. Heero isn't interested enough to ask, though. He leaves the area at a good pace, displaying strength that he shouldn't be capable of.

He rushes towards the Rendezvous point. It rests beyond the boarder of Solo's operation. (At least, according to Intel.) The warehouse that Solo had used as refuge is farther than Heero would have liked. He knows he can't travel fast enough while carrying a bounty and bleeding. Yes, bleeding. He can feel the sharp presence of metal in his side, cutting a little further each time he steps forward. He can feel the fleeting warmth of blood as it soaks down his shirt. It's time for that assessment. Amidst of garden of abandoned cars he halts, lowers to his knees and gently drops the other from his back.

He doesn't spend much time examining the slim handle protruding from beneath his ribs. It is what it is. Removing it will likely cause more damage and excessive blood loss. If the blade had hit anything vital, he would have been rendered immobile by now. (Probably.) Heero scans the cuffed criminal at his side, who is in considerably-worse condition. Ragged breathing. White flesh. He'll die without immediate medical attention. The agent doesn't want that. He's no longer in the business of killing people.

He places a call to headquarters.

the-older-maxwell

The youth turns onto his side as he is set onto the ground, starting to cough again. He attempts to bring his hands to rub at his chest but is brought short by the restraints. "Maldacion…" he groans and rolls onto his back. "S'malo esta vez" His voice is slurred, a rough gurgle coming from his chest.

His head rolls to the side and green eyes meet Heero's. "Guess there's no chance in you just leaving me here?" Through the sweat and pale skin, he has a look in his eyes that Heero knows well. It's one he's seen often. The look of a man who knows his fate. He coughs a little louder, then tries to shimmy his way out of the cuffs.

Quickly tiring of shuffling the restraints, he just lays back as they await transport. "So… whatcha gonna do with me now that I'm 'caught'?"

noheero

Heero is in the middle of sifting through his backpack when his captive becomes conscious. He pauses and watches with some interest, before continuing to grapple through hidden contents. It's hard to dig efficiently with a knife in his side. Each time he moves a little too far for its liking, it bites against his ribs. Somewhere, he has a vile of Coagullodion. If he can just find it-

'Guess there's no chance in you just leaving me here?'

"You'd die." He doesn't look up from what he's doing. Even so, his answer holds certainty. Solo dying isn't a possibility, it's a fact…and it's happening right now. Heero withdraws a first aid kit from his travel sac. It looks brand-new. He sweeps over its inventory with his eyes. It's obvious when he finds what he is looking for. His entire body stiffens and his hand shoots forward to retrieve a tiny bottle.

He shakes it before unscrewing the lid and dabbing clear liquid around the entry point of Solo's knife. He's good at ignoring pain – or at least, good at pretending to ignore pain. The agent doesn't surrender a single flinch while administering the fluid. When he's finished, his attention returns to his sickly counterpart. "You'll be transported to headquarters and hospitalized. After that, you'll probably stand trial."

Finished, he lowers the vile to the ground and rolls it into Solo's reach. Its cap has been screwed tightly back in place. "That's a Coagulant. Put it on your wound. You cant afford to lose anymore blood."

the-older-maxwell

Solo groans softly as he rolls again, "I've been dying since your damn government decided to use the slums as ground zero for their bioterrorism trial run…" The boy has to pause to catch his breath, while he watches the agent rummage through his bag. "So yeah, leave me here. So I can die here like the gutter filth your people think I am."

For a while the dealer doesn't speak. The only sound between them is the occasional coughing fit or wheezing. An especially rough cough causes the boy to turn back onto his side and cough up more vile substance from his lungs. "You'd think…" a groan as he shoves himself away from the fluid, "After all the relapses, I'd be better at handling them"

As the coagulant is pushed towards him, he reaches for it and opens it with ease- despite the restraints. "Hospital for treatment… tchyea. Right. They'll just get me presentable enough to stand 'trial' then sentence and slaughter me to make a statement." Solo shimmies down and rubs some of the coagulant onto the bullet wound, hissing ever so slightly as the fluid spreads on his skin.

Another period of silence is broken again by the dealer, "Hey Soldier Boy. How come you're still so devoted to fighting? You nearly died fighting for this peace… shouldn't you enjoy it?"

noheero

"You talk a lot."

He's been doing his best to ignore the criminal's commentary. Should be easy by now, after enduring years of Duo. But it's not. Maybe because, the delinquent at his side sounds a little too much like his partner - something his cadence. Having missed that something, Heero feels himself continuing the conversation instead of ending it.

'How come you're still so devoted to fighting?'

"This is what I know how to do." It's more honesty than a stranger deserves. He could correct Solo; tell him that his organization threatens peace with each distribution. He could claim that hunting felons qualifies as business, not pleasure…but really - it's a bit of both. And if the cuffed colonist is asking, he's already glimpsed the violence in Heero. He knows.

"And, for the record." Yuy looks down to examine his side. The blood has become as thick as wax, blocking further loss. Good. He busies himself by prodding at his own ribs in a diagnostic manner. "My coworker is from L2. I know for a fact that you're all gutter filth." A very dry, very personal joke. He wraps his fingers sternly around the handle protruding from his wound, but doesn't yank. Even though he wants to.

Where is the retrieval team?

noheero

Hunter or Hunted

the-older-maxwell

Heero doesn't move fast right away. He rises from the earth slowly and takes a moment to check his pockets. It feels good when Duo's cross tinkers against his fingers, still in the safety of a fabric corner. He hadn't meant to take it…was just holding into it during the scans. Something about the machine being a 'huge magnet' – no jewelry allowed. But it's been weeks now and when it's with him, so is his partner. It doesn't bother him much, that one of his guns went with Solo. It may even be a good thing, considering it's settings. He shifts through his travel pack for a less-impressive replacement. After loading it, he's on his way. First with quick steps, then a jog. It's not until he's cocked that he breaks into a run for the warehouse.

Heero is swift, but discrete.

Sabotage is a game he's used to; a game he's good at. Especially in the dark type of space he's been provided. No sharp corners here, just a maze of buildings and scrap. It's easy to navigate around, as long as he's paying attention. He darts between shadows while in possession of two objects: A gun and a sticky bomb. They're all he needs. The guards move like a couple a clock hands around their post. Only two this time…maybe that's why he doesn't feel the need to sedate them. Or maybe, he's gained a little bit of empathy after his latest experience with tranquilizers.

He makes it to the west wall of his destination, where a narrow window waits. It's the same window that had refused to give him a glimpse of the ring's merchandise through his scope hour prior. He rises to his tiptoes and taps the glass with the butt of his pistol. Surprise, surprise. It shatters easily. And gracefully. It's quiet, like malformed ice in early winter. Probably too old to hold it's shape or protest breakage. Heero wastes no time in dropping his canister between its remains and immediately squats low against the adobe wall. He covers his ears, even though he's been told, several times, that such habits aren't necessarily for this, particular weapon. He still expects a BLAST, still expects fire and pain, still feels he shouldn't be half as close as the instructions read.

But this is a Preventer Sticky Bomb.

A pacifist's tool.

And it doesn't behave like an explosive. There is just a low rumbling that has Solo's men wondering if a shelf has fallen before an off-putting SPLAT sounds throughout the building. They open the door to find their entire inventory has been turned into an solid mass of unusual garbage - a mock art exhibit of triggers and barrels stuck in eternal adhesive. It's basically a room of cement now and the culprit has vanished into the cover of his surroundings. He smirks to himself upon hearing an exclamation of dismay. Now…. to find his assailant - the presumed ringleader of this mess. He can't leave without bringing Solo in.

the-older-maxwell

noheero

It started with a cough, innocently integrating itself into his morning. Come lunch it was wheezing, but by midday sickness had completely overtaken the boys body. Stumbling heavily into his second in command as shivers struck like convulsions on his thin frame. Fever was clouding his eyes and flawing his judgment, the two struggled their way to an abandoned bar.

The place was heavily rundown but sequestered away from the rest of the world, allowing for a safe haven for the sick boy to recover. The lower level is below ground and cooler than the streets, helping soothe a fever and keeping the sounds from above ground muffled.

Green eyes struggle to focus as his worried friend looks on. "Voy a tomar medicamentos. Stay here, I'll be back soon". A brief kiss is placed to the fevered forehead as the older boy stands up and leaves, locking up behind himself.

Fading in and out of consciousness, Solo is woken by the unfamiliar footsteps of an intruder coming from above. A coughing fit overtakes him as damaged lungs cough up thick dark fluid. Despite this, he shoves himself to his feet and grabs the large hunting knife from the floor as he looks up into the eyes of his hunter.

"Seems luck is on your side, soldier boy…"

noheero

"Luck has nothing to do with it."

Heero's statement is a fact. Not a trace of pleasure lines its pronunciation. He stands just beyond the bar's doorway with his feet apart and his handgun at the ready. The weapon seems to stare at Solo with the same, steely apathy of its owner. It's hard not to notice the smudge of soil on his cheek. He's got mud on one side of his jacket; a remnant of his involuntary nap.

"You're not in any condition to fight." Also a fact. Even if Heero hadn't witnessed several fevered failures to rest, Solo's hacking would have been evidence enough. The arms dealer appears flushed. Sweat clings to his face and neck. The dark puddle he's made on the floor could be mucus, but looks more like blood…which is never a good sign. "It's my mission to bring you in alive. Don't make it difficult."

the-older-maxwell

"Your mission, huh?" Solo clicks his tongue, "What do you think arresting me is going to accomplish? There will always be another that rises in my place. Maybe it'll be some time, but dealing is a way of surviving here." A cough, then a wheeze, "You can't think about where those guns are going. Who's hand they'll be in next, or what they're going to do with those guns… you just create. Sell. Survive."

At the last punctuation the dark skinned youth flicks his wrists to send the blade flying, hitting just under his mark and ending in the agents rib cage. Nothing vital hit, but still a sharp pain.

When a bullet is shot at him he twists just in time for it to nick his thigh, not shatter his knee. The movement sends him colliding with the wall and sliding down to the floor- the stress of his sickness, the quick movement and the bullet wound causing him to slip into unconsciousness- collapsing into a heap.

As Heero moves to cuff the boy, he hears the telltale sound of a shotgun being cocked. The blond is back, and not happy to have an intruder. As his eyes survey the room and the state of the two boys, he sighs roughly. "You'll get him medical attention? For the bullet and this sickness?" At Heero's nod of affirmative, he resets the safety on the rifle. "Then go. Take him. There's no medication here that can save him, but maybe with your government funding and resources you can."

Luka moves to the side to face Heero and allow him access to the stairs, "I am not your mission. Leave me, save him… and I will be Preventers eyes and ears in this underground"

noheero

He thinks about pulling the trigger a little early; of cutting off Solo's monologue about job security. But, he doesn't. He sits in the moment, waiting for the atmosphere to shift. He knows that everything will go fast, once they start. He knows that he'll enjoy the dizzying feel of his own, elevated heartbeat when it's over. Heero wants to build up to his high, so he listens. He absorbs his enemies voice and appearance until Solo slams down on life's fast-forward Button.

He attacks and everything becomes a blur. Fortunately, Heero's arm is steady. His knows how to aim for a blur. He automatically follows Solo's trajectory. His heart pauses when it senses an opportunity to strike. It pulls the string to his trigger finger. Solo goes down, like he should. Its a victory and yet, Heero makes no sound of celebration. There is always something sickening about sudden stillness…he's never liked being face-to-face with it. Doesn't like causing it.

Just likes the motion that leads to it.

Now, he lowers his gun because it feels too damn heavy. He doesn't put it away, because his training demands that he has it in hand until confirming the state of his opponent. He stabilizes his firearm over one thigh with the grip of both hands; muzzle to the ground. There is pain. He's vaguely aware of damage - somewhere central, but his tolerance is greater than most. It allows him to banish searing discomfort to the background of his thoughts until the scene is secure. He bends to apply restraints.

Ch-CHCK

A Shotgun.

The Preventer stops. He does not freeze, as a rabbit does when hiding in plain sight. Instead he stops, like a dog that's been interrupted from it's meal. The sort that lifts it's head, but remains statuesque over it's food dish; expectant and secretively hostile. Heero turns his face to acknowledge the intruder. The rest of him seems to remain stationary, but a soft click of cuffs advises otherwise. After receiving permission he didn't ask for, the pulls Solo into his back. It's impressive. The agent isn't large. He's lean, and young and short, but he makes the task look easy.

"He'll receive treatment. It's part of the process."

Luka's terms are a little too cooperative and Heero half-expects to be shot in the back…because that's what these people do. Show them a little mercy and they bury a couple of bullets in your spine. Yours, or your partner's. He locks eyes with this new, plausible threat while passing. It's not an intentional moment of prolonged eye contact - Just a consequence of trying to read what sort of person Luka is. Heero isn't interested enough to ask, though. He leaves the area at a good pace, displaying strength that he shouldn't be capable of.

He rushes towards the Rendezvous point. It rests beyond the boarder of Solo's operation. (At least, according to Intel.) The warehouse that Solo had used as refuge is farther than Heero would have liked. He knows he can't travel fast enough while carrying a bounty and bleeding. Yes, bleeding. He can feel the sharp presence of metal in his side, cutting a little further each time he steps forward. He can feel the fleeting warmth of blood as it soaks down his shirt. It's time for that assessment. Amidst of garden of abandoned cars he halts, lowers to his knees and gently drops the other from his back.

He doesn't spend much time examining the slim handle protruding from beneath his ribs. It is what it is. Removing it will likely cause more damage and excessive blood loss. If the blade had hit anything vital, he would have been rendered immobile by now. (Probably.) Heero scans the cuffed criminal at his side, who is in considerably-worse condition. Ragged breathing. White flesh. He'll die without immediate medical attention. The agent doesn't want that. He's no longer in the business of killing people.

He places a call to headquarters.

the-older-maxwell

The youth turns onto his side as he is set onto the ground, starting to cough again. He attempts to bring his hands to rub at his chest but is brought short by the restraints. "Maldacion…" he groans and rolls onto his back. "S'malo esta vez" His voice is slurred, a rough gurgle coming from his chest.

His head rolls to the side and green eyes meet Heero's. "Guess there's no chance in you just leaving me here?" Through the sweat and pale skin, he has a look in his eyes that Heero knows well. It's one he's seen often. The look of a man who knows his fate. He coughs a little louder, then tries to shimmy his way out of the cuffs.

Quickly tiring of shuffling the restraints, he just lays back as they await transport. "So… whatcha gonna do with me now that I'm 'caught'?"

noheero

Heero is in the middle of sifting through his backpack when his captive becomes conscious. He pauses and watches with some interest, before continuing to grapple through hidden contents. It's hard to dig efficiently with a knife in his side. Each time he moves a little too far for its liking, it bites against his ribs. Somewhere, he has a vile of Coagullodion. If he can just find it-

'Guess there's no chance in you just leaving me here?'

"You'd die." He doesn't look up from what he's doing. Even so, his answer holds certainty. Solo dying isn't a possibility, it's a fact…and it's happening right now. Heero withdraws a first aid kit from his travel sac. It looks brand-new. He sweeps over its inventory with his eyes. It's obvious when he finds what he is looking for. His entire body stiffens and his hand shoots forward to retrieve a tiny bottle.

He shakes it before unscrewing the lid and dabbing clear liquid around the entry point of Solo's knife. He's good at ignoring pain – or at least, good at pretending to ignore pain. The agent doesn't surrender a single flinch while administering the fluid. When he's finished, his attention returns to his sickly counterpart. "You'll be transported to headquarters and hospitalized. After that, you'll probably stand trial."

Finished, he lowers the vile to the ground and rolls it into Solo's reach. Its cap has been screwed tightly back in place. "That's a Coagulant. Put it on your wound. You cant afford to lose anymore blood."

the-older-maxwell

Solo groans softly as he rolls again, "I've been dying since your damn government decided to use the slums as ground zero for their bioterrorism trial run…" The boy has to pause to catch his breath, while he watches the agent rummage through his bag. "So yeah, leave me here. So I can die here like the gutter filth your people think I am."

For a while the dealer doesn't speak. The only sound between them is the occasional coughing fit or wheezing. An especially rough cough causes the boy to turn back onto his side and cough up more vile substance from his lungs. "You'd think…" a groan as he shoves himself away from the fluid, "After all the relapses, I'd be better at handling them"

As the coagulant is pushed towards him, he reaches for it and opens it with ease- despite the restraints. "Hospital for treatment… tchyea. Right. They'll just get me presentable enough to stand 'trial' then sentence and slaughter me to make a statement." Solo shimmies down and rubs some of the coagulant onto the bullet wound, hissing ever so slightly as the fluid spreads on his skin.

Another period of silence is broken again by the dealer, "Hey Soldier Boy. How come you're still so devoted to fighting? You nearly died fighting for this peace… shouldn't you enjoy it?"

noheero

"You talk a lot."

He's been doing his best to ignore the criminal's commentary. Should be easy by now, after enduring years of Duo. But it's not. Maybe because, the delinquent at his side sounds a little too much like his partner - something his cadence. Having missed that something, Heero feels himself continuing the conversation instead of ending it.

'How come you're still so devoted to fighting?'

"This is what I know how to do." It's more honesty than a stranger deserves. He could correct Solo; tell him that his organization threatens peace with each distribution. He could claim that hunting felons qualifies as business, not pleasure…but really - it's a bit of both. And if the cuffed colonist is asking, he's already glimpsed the violence in Heero. He knows.

"And, for the record." Yuy looks down to examine his side. The blood has become as thick as wax, blocking further loss. Good. He busies himself by prodding at his own ribs in a diagnostic manner. "My coworker is from L2. I know for a fact that you're all gutter filth." A very dry, very personal joke. He wraps his fingers sternly around the handle protruding from his wound, but doesn't yank. Even though he wants to.

Where is the retrieval team?

the-older-maxwell

Green eyes blink heavily before shifting between the bullet wound in his leg and his knife still imbedded in the agents abdomen. He shuffles his leg a little, getting a feel for it's mobility before he decides to take his chances and heave himself to a sitting position. Being vertical for the first time in hours is dizzying, causing the dealer to sway slightly but shake his head to clear it.

A dark snort escapes chapped lips as Heero's joke is spoken, "If you think so highly" the word comes out with a harsh bite to it, "of your partner, why are you here alone?"

The dealer waits for the startled reaction from the agent before making his move, swinging his good leg to kick against the blade in the agents side. The impact sends another jolt of blinding pain into Heero's abdomen.

The youth shifts up to his feet and half jog/half limps away, not making it far before the impact of another bullet from Heero takes him down. As he crumbles to a heap on the ground, the sounds of their retrieval craft are finally heard.

noheero

A spotlight falls over the scene; greater emphasizing Solo's defeat. Heero wilts slightly because he can - Because help is hovering overhead and he knows that he'll soon have access to medical attention and a cot. The agent allows himself to slump, but he doesn't drop his gun. It remains pointed at its target. Dirt spirals around the pair, placing them in the eye of a manmade tornado. Solo's got to be eating and breathing dust,

…but he doesn't move.

—

Immediately after boarding, Heero finds himself separated from his charge and glad of it. Agent Gold refuses to take an immediate report. He's glad about that too. The pain in his side has gone from sharp to excruciating. All Heero wants to do is lay down. He does, but not with the grace he'd anticipated. Instead, he crumbles like a bag of bricks - midsentence.

There's commotion in the background of his blackout. The retrieval crew is panicking. Heero isn't. The floor is cool beneath his face and hands. It feels good. There's a very low chance that he won't wakeup due to a punctured organ. More than likely, he'll find himself in a hospital in a bed beside his partner. Exactly where he wants to be.

END PART 1

BROTHERS MAXWELL PART 2

the-older-maxwell

The Brothers Maxwell

[[Closed starter for duoordie (and noheero ?)]]

The beeping of monitors and whirling of machines is the first thing the bronzed skin youth registers as he climbs back onto the conscious plane. Slowly opening his eyes, he hisses and shuts them again to shield against the bright light of the stark white hospital room, "Mierda…"

It takes a second, then a third try for the dealer -former dealer- to force his eyes to stay open and take stock of his situation.

Right leg, heavily bandaged -Gunshot wound. He remembered that much.

Left arm, in a sling -Also a gunshot wound, this time to his shoulder. The shot that finally took him down.

Right arm, strapped to the side of the bed by a heavy restraint. Even with his proficient escape skills, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Above all else though was his chest. The bandaging wrapped tightly around his entire torso. The dull ache constantly present. The sharp pain when he took too deep of a breath. The still present scent of surgical antiseptic.

Scrunching his face to attempt to soothe the discomfort of the oxygen tubing around -and in- his nose, the boy looks to his right to see all of the machinery monitoring his every breath, pulse and movement. The IV bag slowly pumping fluids, antibiotics and pain medication into his system.

After a few moments of awakeness, he slowly starts to slip back into unconsciousness. It's only a soft rustling of noise by his door that brings him back around. Solo slowly turns to face the intruder. Haunting and impossibly green eyes meet startled violet. The older boy smirks.

"Hey, kid."

duoordie

Darkness. All consuming. There was no sound, or smell or anything. He wasn't even cold. There was only the black emptiness.

And then he was choking. The feeling of something in his throat. An unbearable hard something in the way of everything, of breathing, of swallowing. He tried to fight it, to reach hands he was barely aware of to pull it from his airway, to push his fingers into his mouth and find that terrible something as his throat spasmed around it. Pressure on his wrists, pressure on newly discovered ankles kept him in place. Hands, hands on his chest, on his arms, all over him. A voice he couldn't hear. Then the something was moving up his throat, it felt like vomiting but hard and scraping. He gagged painfully as the obstruction was removed, his whole body jerking against the restraints. His right arm came lose, only to be held down by yet more hands.

"Duo!"

Eyeslids opened, assaulted with too-bright light. Purple eyes fought to focus as energy-less limbs pulled weakly against the nurses that were still trying to hold him down. Former Alliance Major Sally Poe stood over him, concern evident in her eyes. "It's okay now. We had to remove the tubes, but it's fine now." She patted his chest lightly, and though the contact was appreciated it still hurt.

Duo relaxed back into the hospital bed, finally understanding where he was. He coughed, dry and painful, and there was a straw at this lips a moment later. Cracked lips encircled the straw, drawing water in slowly. He'd had this experience enough to know better than to just gulp it down. Swallowing was painful. "How long was I out?" Sally remained silent, worry lines creasing the space between her eyebrows. "Sally. How long." Duo's voice was scratchy, and small, but persistent.

It was a man's voice that answered instead, one he knew well. "Four months." Heero Yuy stood in the door way, the picture of nonchalance. There was a thin line of sweat in his brow though, even though his breathing was completely normal. He'd ran to the hospital.

"Damn it…" Duo exhaled deeply. Everything hurt, his body felt like it had been through the ringer. With the enhancements he had gone through as a Gundam pilot, being out for that long meant the damage was probably still severe enough to kill him if he wasn't careful.

Heero moved closer to the bed, his expression blank but Duo swore he saw the ghost of a worried expression in those blue eyes. Sally gently put a hand on the 'perfect solder's' arm, stopping him. "Duo still needs to rest."

The messy haired brunet shook his head lightly. "He has a right to know. Especially if the claim is true."

The bed-ridden pilot just stared at the two. He was too tired to really argue, but if Heero thought it was important, he had very little doubt the other former pilot was wrong. Sally sighed, her pale blue eyes finding the floor. "I'll leave you two alone, but you better ensure he gets some reset once you are done." A worried glance was pushed Duo's way, before the doctor stayed true to her word and left. The other nurses followed, leaving the two Preventer's alone.

"What's going on?" Even though his voice was weak, there was an evident mix of worry and curiosity.

Heero paused for just a moment. He had never been overly talkative, so it took him a moment to balance all the details against what he actually needed to say. "I went to L2 on a mission, picked up a weapons dealer. He claims to be Solo Maxwell."

Duo's eyes went wide, but his lips remained closed. A war of emotions waged in his chest as well as on his face. He knew Heero could read him like a book, they'd certainly be partners for long enough. Disbelief, hope, fear, regret, joy, guilt… but mostly rage. "Take me to Lady Une."

—–

The braided pilot was confined to a wheelchair, his legs still unable to support the mass of his body even with the staggering amount of weight he had lost. A gas tank was on the back, a thin tube going up Duo's nose. A heart monitor was stuck to his chest. These were requirements, if he really intended to make this visit, Une and Sally had been adamant. Heero was behind him, and though Duo would never say it, he was glad he wasn't going into that room alone. The door opened with a 'whoosh' revealing the weapons dealer strapped to his bed, his body mostly covered by bandages.

Bloodshot eyes took him in quickly, before settling on a green gaze that was more familiar than he'd like. "You're either a liar or an idiot, using that name." The words were practically spit from thin lips. Duo remembered watching Solo die, the government sponsored plague taking so many of their orphan brother's and sister's lives, leaving them like garbage in the gutters of L2. The braided pilot was practically seizing with pent anger, as much as his broken body would allow. His eyes were the proof of survival, the odd coloring marking him as someone who had contracted and beaten that consuming disease, and now those violet irises practically burned. "Which is it, pal?"

noheero

'You're either a liar or an idiot, using that name.'

Heero looks down, fascinated by his partner's level of anger. Duo's temper is a thrilling thing to witness. It has him struggling against the confines of his wheelchair and testing the reach of his mobile IV.

Does he know how hard he's gripping the armrests? The tendons that line his hands look like streams of injected steel. They form ridges from his impossibly-frail wrists to his scarecrow-esque knuckles. Nobody should look formidable while clad in a paper dress, but Duo Maxwell does. He's furious.

Heero wonders if the 'God of Death' devoted a similar response to him after finding Deathscythe dismantled. There is something very appealing about the possibility; about inspiring such a dangerous level of passion. Maybe, because anger only inflicts the living. It's been months since Duo has expressed anything aside from twitching lashes, so this vibrant display of fury is…

the-older-maxwell

The Brothers Maxwell

[[Closed starter for duoordie (and noheero ?)]]

The beeping of monitors and whirling of machines is the first thing the bronzed skin youth registers as he climbs back onto the conscious plane. Slowly opening his eyes, he hisses and shuts them again to shield against the bright light of the stark white hospital room, "Mierda…"

It takes a second, then a third try for the dealer -former dealer- to force his eyes to stay open and take stock of his situation.

Right leg, heavily bandaged -Gunshot wound. He remembered that much.

Left arm, in a sling -Also a gunshot wound, this time to his shoulder. The shot that finally took him down.

Right arm, strapped to the side of the bed by a heavy restraint. Even with his proficient escape skills, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Above all else though was his chest. The bandaging wrapped tightly around his entire torso. The dull ache constantly present. The sharp pain when he took too deep of a breath. The still present scent of surgical antiseptic.

Scrunching his face to attempt to soothe the discomfort of the oxygen tubing around -and in- his nose, the boy looks to his right to see all of the machinery monitoring his every breath, pulse and movement. The IV bag slowly pumping fluids, antibiotics and pain medication into his system.

After a few moments of awakeness, he slowly starts to slip back into unconsciousness. It's only a soft rustling of noise by his door that brings him back around. Solo slowly turns to face the intruder. Haunting and impossibly green eyes meet startled violet. The older boy smirks.

"Hey, kid."

duoordie

Darkness. All consuming. There was no sound, or smell or anything. He wasn't even cold. There was only the black emptiness.

And then he was choking. The feeling of something in his throat. An unbearable hard something in the way of everything, of breathing, of swallowing. He tried to fight it, to reach hands he was barely aware of to pull it from his airway, to push his fingers into his mouth and find that terrible something as his throat spasmed around it. Pressure on his wrists, pressure on newly discovered ankles kept him in place. Hands, hands on his chest, on his arms, all over him. A voice he couldn't hear. Then the something was moving up his throat, it felt like vomiting but hard and scraping. He gagged painfully as the obstruction was removed, his whole body jerking against the restraints. His right arm came lose, only to be held down by yet more hands.

"Duo!"

Eyeslids opened, assaulted with too-bright light. Purple eyes fought to focus as energy-less limbs pulled weakly against the nurses that were still trying to hold him down. Former Alliance Major Sally Poe stood over him, concern evident in her eyes. "It's okay now. We had to remove the tubes, but it's fine now." She patted his chest lightly, and though the contact was appreciated it still hurt.

Duo relaxed back into the hospital bed, finally understanding where he was. He coughed, dry and painful, and there was a straw at this lips a moment later. Cracked lips encircled the straw, drawing water in slowly. He'd had this experience enough to know better than to just gulp it down. Swallowing was painful. "How long was I out?" Sally remained silent, worry lines creasing the space between her eyebrows. "Sally. How long." Duo's voice was scratchy, and small, but persistent.

It was a man's voice that answered instead, one he knew well. "Four months." Heero Yuy stood in the door way, the picture of nonchalance. There was a thin line of sweat in his brow though, even though his breathing was completely normal. He'd ran to the hospital.

"Damn it…" Duo exhaled deeply. Everything hurt, his body felt like it had been through the ringer. With the enhancements he had gone through as a Gundam pilot, being out for that long meant the damage was probably still severe enough to kill him if he wasn't careful.

Heero moved closer to the bed, his expression blank but Duo swore he saw the ghost of a worried expression in those blue eyes. Sally gently put a hand on the 'perfect solder's' arm, stopping him. "Duo still needs to rest."

The messy haired brunet shook his head lightly. "He has a right to know. Especially if the claim is true."

The bed-ridden pilot just stared at the two. He was too tired to really argue, but if Heero thought it was important, he had very little doubt the other former pilot was wrong. Sally sighed, her pale blue eyes finding the floor. "I'll leave you two alone, but you better ensure he gets some reset once you are done." A worried glance was pushed Duo's way, before the doctor stayed true to her word and left. The other nurses followed, leaving the two Preventer's alone.

"What's going on?" Even though his voice was weak, there was an evident mix of worry and curiosity.

Heero paused for just a moment. He had never been overly talkative, so it took him a moment to balance all the details against what he actually needed to say. "I went to L2 on a mission, picked up a weapons dealer. He claims to be Solo Maxwell."

Duo's eyes went wide, but his lips remained closed. A war of emotions waged in his chest as well as on his face. He knew Heero could read him like a book, they'd certainly be partners for long enough. Disbelief, hope, fear, regret, joy, guilt… but mostly rage. "Take me to Lady Une."

—–

The braided pilot was confined to a wheelchair, his legs still unable to support the mass of his body even with the staggering amount of weight he had lost. A gas tank was on the back, a thin tube going up Duo's nose. A heart monitor was stuck to his chest. These were requirements, if he really intended to make this visit, Une and Sally had been adamant. Heero was behind him, and though Duo would never say it, he was glad he wasn't going into that room alone. The door opened with a 'whoosh' revealing the weapons dealer strapped to his bed, his body mostly covered by bandages.

Bloodshot eyes took him in quickly, before settling on a green gaze that was more familiar than he'd like. "You're either a liar or an idiot, using that name." The words were practically spit from thin lips. Duo remembered watching Solo die, the government sponsored plague taking so many of their orphan brother's and sister's lives, leaving them like garbage in the gutters of L2. The braided pilot was practically seizing with pent anger, as much as his broken body would allow. His eyes were the proof of survival, the odd coloring marking him as someone who had contracted and beaten that consuming disease, and now those violet irises practically burned. "Which is it, pal?"

noheero

'You're either a liar or an idiot, using that name.'

Heero looks down, fascinated by his partner's level of anger. Duo's temper is a thrilling thing to witness. It has him struggling against the confines of his wheelchair and testing the reach of his mobile IV.

Does he know how hard he's gripping the armrests? The tendons that line his hands look like streams of injected steel. They form ridges from his impossibly-frail wrists to his scarecrow-esque knuckles. Nobody should look formidable while clad in a paper dress, but Duo Maxwell does. He's furious.

Heero wonders if the 'God of Death' devoted a similar response to him after finding Deathscythe dismantled. There is something very appealing about the possibility; about inspiring such a dangerous level of passion. Maybe, because anger only inflicts the living. It's been months since Duo has expressed anything aside from twitching lashes, so this vibrant display of fury is…

the-older-maxwell

Although he is a little startled by the reception, concern is also clear across demure features. "I've done a lot of stupid things in my life. And I can lie with the best of them, but never to you. Especially not about this."

The boy attempts to take a deep breath, but a harsh cough disrupt it. After taking a moment to compose himself, Solo speaks again. "I was found by an EMT on his way to work. His dog was able to sniff me out from the warehouse." Green eyes drift off to the side and become unfocused, clearly lost in his past.

"He brought me in on the brink of death. Vitals reading lower than any they had recorded from a rat like me." Unconsciously, he attempts to lift his right arm to rub at his chest but is stopped short by the restraints holding him in place. "Though I can't fault them, they saved my life and all… I sometimes wonder if that's where my story should have ended. They saved me not to save my life, but to prove they could. I was a project for them, kept far inside the base hospital away from prying eyes"

After another pause to catch his breath he continues, "This place is no different. I'm a means to an end. They'll just get me presentable enough to stand 'trial' then sentence and slaughter me to make a statement to others like me" He turns and matches Heero's heated gaze with one of his own, "You should have just left me there."

"I wanted to see you. To read about you, and see you on the news wasn't the same. I wanted to see how you've grown. And tell you how proud I am of the man you've become."

duoordie

Rage. It ate away at his stomach as sure as months of virtual starvation had. "So what? You had a bad childhood, and that's your excuse for turning into exactly the people we hated?" Duo had to stop to take a breath, the heart monitor on his chest sending out a warning beep, a reminder of his currently frail state. Every shift of his body pulled on some cord or wire attached to him. The next time the braided pilot spoke, it was quiet, but no less angry. "The Solo I knew, the Solo I loved as my brother, would never profit off death." He shook his head, a physical representation of his denial. "You're not him." Violet eyes lingered on the other's restrained form, seeing the child he had once known in this man's face… and rebelling against it all the same. His brother was dead, and this death dealer was walking around using his name shamelessly. It disgusted him.

noheero

Heero squints when Solo's commentary is directed at him. 'You should have just left me there.' -– as if it would have been that easy. Doesn't Solo work for a cartel of sorts? Doesn't he know that following orders isn't a choice? Maybe not. Doesn't matter anyway. Whatever he has to say, it's outside of Heero. Even without a briefing, the war-rattled-youth can tell that this isn't his battle.

His partner's recovery will be, though.

And Solo's arrival could pose a threat to that. As the pair bicker, he returns his gaze to Duo. There's a huge square of hair missing from 02's scalp. Duo's hasn't noticed yet, but when he does, there will be Hell to pay. Heero will have to explain that a bullet bit through his cranium: that he hadn't been fast or skilled enough to avoid it. For now, he places a hand on his friend's shoulder to disrupt a rise in volume. "-You've seen him," Heero's voice is strategically low. Everyone present has to strain to hear it. "It's time for my antibiotic. Let's go."

PART 3 AC220

A. C. 220

The man in the corner keeps staring.

He can feel the stranger's unwavering gaze. It's burning the right side of his profile…and it's ruining his drink. He's travelled a long way to escape stares like that. Stares like that are why he's tucked himself between astroids to sip cheap liquor. Stares like that are why he lingers on the outskirts of space.

He keeps his eyes ahead, pretending to be entertained by a wall of bottles, though he's already too familiar with it's labels. The ex G-Pilot has been planning to walk out for a while now, but the bartender keeps pouring him drinks and he's not about to let them go to waste. So he sits and he sulks and he wonders if he's going to hear his old alias in the next ten minutes.

Originally posted by whiskeyinmyglass

the-older-maxwell

He's been watching the ex-pilot since he walked in, sure of his identity but not sure how to approach. Making up his mind, the green eyed man downs the last of his glass before grabbing another round from the bartender, one for him and one for his one time colleague.

Making his way over, he slaps on a smirk causing the metal stud in his left dimple to flash briefly in the light. On the right side an old burn scar slightly mars otherwise attractive features despite the mans aging body.

A shaking partially prosthetic right hand sets down a glass in front of his counterpart. Speaking in a rugged voice that's almost impossible to forget the 'stranger' speaks, "Got time for a drink with an old war-monger like yourself, Agent Yuy?"

noheero

It's a distinctive voice, but it's been a long time. There have been plenty of drinks and head injuries between then and now. Heero blinks at the bar's bottle wall with some animosity. He's slow to turn his face; slow to acknowledge the host of this nostalgic voice. When he finally does, he is immediately struck by Green. It's a color he hasn't seen in a while, one that isn't common in space.

One that isn't common anywhere.

Heero lingers in its vibrant hue for a moment before trailing his attention over the pieced-together-face of Solo Maxwell: A weapons dealer and once-enemy. "…You're confused. I'm not Heero Yuy." He looks so tired as he says it. "I get that all the time, but I'm not him." The former agent settles back into his despondent position and finishes the last of his drink.

His lie is almost believable. Heero hardly resembles his former self. He's grown gaunt. In spite of admirably-wide shoulders and a masculine jaw, the man looks used up. His eyes have grown darker and are lined with a lack of sleep. His hair is as wild as ever, but has suffered premature steaks of silver.

A finger is missing and the rest of his digits strain to make up for its absence around his whiskey glass. Most notable, is the mutilation of his face. A jagged scar has devastated its features. It runs diagonally; beginning beneath his left eye and travelling over his cheekbone to end on his upper lip.

the-older-maxwell

Solo sits down across from the former agent despite the brash welcome from the other. "I never said Heero Yuy. You added that yourself." As the man talks, there is an almost inaudible click with each inhale… Coming from inside his chest. He nurses his own vodka tonic close absently tapping the glass alternating from flesh pointer finger to metallic pinkie.

Really taking in the appearance of the man before him, he's surprised yet familiar with the changes. His own undercut hair is also fleckled with gray, his own features gaunt and exhausted with age. The past decade has not been kind to this man. Although nothing in his life has been.

"So if you're not Heero Yuy, who are you?" He ignores his own curiosity about the others scar, figuring he can ask later.

noheero

'You added that yourself.'

He hadn't realized. A grimace sparks in Heero's brow and slithers out though his spine. He blames the alcohol. Sobriety wouldn't have allowed for such a slip up. Of course, that doesn't stop him from gazing down at the other's offering. It looks cold and clear and potent. He pushes his own, empty glass away and pulls the new one near.

"-I don't care what you call me. Long as it isn't that."

He's not going to waste another lie on Solo. The renegade is broken, but he's not blind. Or stupid. Ting-Kla-Clink. Heero's eyes dart to the sound of metal on glass. They remain there, sharpened by irritation. "I don't remember you having a prosthetic." Yuy doesn't drink. He simply holds the tonic near his chest, like a precious obligation. "-In fact, I don't remember you being alive."

the-older-maxwell

"Cisco it is then." He says with an air of finality. Noticing Yuys irritation from the fidgeting, his hand freezes and stops. Immediately after, his left foot begins to tap instead. Almost everything is done with his left side, despite Heero's distinct recollection that the man is right handed. Perhaps the prosthetic is a hinderance, perhaps something more.

At the question of his mortality, green eyes blink then fill with a mixture of humor and rage, "Remember Preventers L2 branch got blown up?" He takes a big gulp of his glass, almost draining it in one go, "It was a hit. Meant for me. When I told you to leave me on L2… it wasn't just for my own sake. I coulda died there from that sickness and no one would be any wiser. All those agents who died" A surprising amount of remorse is in his voice, "They could still be here."

He signals the bartender for another drink for himself, "After the dust settled and they patched me up, I left. And I've been running since. According to official record, I am dead. The hand is meant to be a temporary patch. Never meant as a long term solution."

Noding appreciatively to the bartender when he just brings a whole bottle over, Solo continues "How'd you end up all the way out here, soldier boy?" His gaze flickers to Heero's scar, "And what happened there?"

noheero

"You're a fugitive."

He doesn't notice Solo's method of movement as much as its constant presence. The man always has to be doing something. Duo had been the same. This amputee must have installed those habits…

The pair stumble into silence at the mention of L2's Branch. Its a brief, but sacred acknowledgment of loss. A signal towards the bartender breaks it. He'll deliver a cure; something bitter to wash away all the facts. Thank God.

'And what happened there?'

"-What happened Where."

It's ridiculous to deny the destruction of his face and yet, he does. Adamantly. His scar is not up for discussion. Far as Solo is concerned, it doesn't exist. Eyes lock. Ice clinks. "…There's work along the belt. It's easier to wait out here than to fly back and forth from the colonies."

the-older-maxwell

As green eyes clash with cobalt as Solo snorts, his feathers obviously ruffled. "You take one too many blows to the head, 'sco? Before they let me work at the L2 branch, I was given a full pardon in return for my… expertise in certain fields. The improved accuracy on long range rifles?" The boy points his thumb back at himself. "That'd be my work. Tranq darts that inject chemical only upon initial contact. Tracking darts for car chases. Smaller and more compact crossbows."

The man shakes his head as his eyes drift and suddenly find something in the corner very interesting. With a shaking hand, his drink is brought back to his lips for a long swig.

"Then the hit happened. They took me into surgery to fix some of the damage, but told the public at large that I was DOA. After the dust settled, Prev and I went our separate ways. Now I'm just a bus boy at the local diner. It's a quiet life, but it's nice."

His glass is sworled as he ponders his next comment. "How's the kid?"

noheero

He doesn't follow the other's gaze towards the corner. 'Cisco' is locked-on to his target; not blinking, not drinking. He listens with an intensity most enforcers wound envy.

"…that pardon wouldn't mean much if you'd gone MIA directly after the hit. The agency would have wanted you for questioning. Or to take the fall. A lot of liability was divvied out after PREV-2's destruction." His argument is presented like a dissertation. Forgetfulness isn't responsible for Cisco's 'fugitive' assumption. If anything, he remembers protocol a little too well. "But. You're saying, they let you go?" There's a touch of cynicism in his question; as if he's been expected to swallow a fairytale and call it 'Truth.'

'How's the kid?'

Heero's glass hits the bar with a resounding CRACK. It's abuse forecasts the final word of a doomed statement. He's answered this damn question too many times. The universe should know by now:

"Duo Maxwell is Dead."


End file.
